SIXTY-FIVE 


Bnr  JEAN  K.BAIRD 


Crissman  had  opened  the  bucket  and  was  laying  out 
his  lunch.  (See  page  55.) 


SIXTY-FIVE 
ON  TIME 


BY 


JEAN  K.  BAIRD 

Author  of  "Little  Rhody,"    "Elizabeth  Hobart  at 

Exeter  Hall,"    "  The  Honor  Girl,"   "  Cash 

Three,"   "Danny,"  etc. 


[HALFTONES  BY 
ARTHUR   DEBEBIAN 


THE  SAALFIELD  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

CHICAGO          AKRON,  OHIO         NEW  YORK 


COFYRIGHT,  1909, 

Bv  THE  SAALFIEU)  PUB.  CO. 


CONTENTS 

PART  ONE 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  A  PROMOTION.     .    ;.:    .    >:    .     ...  7 

II.  THE  RUMOR  .     .     .     .     .     ,:     ...  23 

III.  THE  FIRST  RUN 43 

IV.  THE  AWAKENING .     .  59 

V.  A  NEED  FOR  THE  LITTLE  TIN  Box  .     .,     .  81 

VI.    INTO  THE  NEW  HOME    .     .     .     .     .     .     97 

VII.    THE  LUMBER  ROAD  .     .     .     M    -...     .     .  115 

PART  TWO 

I.    THE  HOME  IN  THE  CITY 129 

II.    PREPARATION  FOR  CAMP 147 

III.  THE  GIRLS  MEET  WITH  AN  ADVENTURE  .  163 

IV.  THE  STORY  OF  UNCLE  DOCTOR  ....  181 
V.    THE  NEW  GUEST 195 

VI.    MARGERY  WAGES  WAR  WITH  UNCLE  DOC- 
TOR   211 

VII.    DIFFICULT  HOURS  FOR  ALL 227 

VIII.    RECALLED .     .  243 

IX.    THE  DAWNING  OF  THE  DAY  .  259 


2134174 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

CRISSMAN  HAD  OPENED  THE  BUCKET  AND  WAS 
LATINO  OUT  His  LUNCH  ....      Frontispiece 

AT  His  FIRST  WORD  THE  GIRLS  HAD  CLUTCHED 
EACH  OTHER  TIGHTLY 56 

"You'vE  MADE  A  NICE  JOB  OP  IT,  KEEPING  ME 
IN  BED  ALMOST  A  WEEK" 156 

"HEY,  THERE,  CRISSMAN,  YOU'RE  CALLED  FOR 
SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME!"  .  232 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

PART  ONE 

CHAPTER  I 

A  PEOMOTION" 

The  characteristic  features  of  the  town 
were  great  railroad  shops  where  engines  and 
passenger  coaches  were  constructed.  These 
were  at  the  north  side  of  town,  lying  close 
to  the  foot  of  the  mountains.  Before  them 
stretched  half  a  hundred  tracks  which  for 
the  greater  part  of  the  time  were  filled  with 
freight  cars  and  yard  engines.  They  were 
two  miles  long  and  from  thirty  to  fifty 
tracks  wide,  yet  the  freight  during  the  ship- 
ping seasons  had  been  congested  for  days — 
blocked  in  so  tight  that  the  yard-master  was 
forced  to  exercise  the  greatest  care  and 
judgment  to  clear  the  way. 

7 


8  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

The  town  lay  south  of  the  tracks.  A 
workman  risked  life  and  limb  should  he  at- 
tempt to  pass  over  the  tracks  among  the 
shifting  engines,  the  hundreds  of  moving 
cars,  and  at  regular  hours,  the  dash  of  the 
flyers  which  went  whizzing  on  to  the  station 
at  the  west  end. 

To  prevent  accidents  and  protect  the  lives 
of  the  men,  the  company  had  constructed 
an  iron  bridge  thirty  feet  above  the  tracks 
and  reaching  from  the  shops  to  town.  Over 
this  an  army  of  three  thousand  skilled  me- 
chanics passed  each  noon  hour  on  their  way 
to  dinner;  and  at  all  hours,  day  and  night, 
the  crews  for  the  trains  came  and  went,  for 
the  yard  also  marked  the  division  where 
crews  and  engines  were  changed. 

These  trainmen  were  a  happy  set  in  spite 
of  the  fact  that  their  work  was  dangerous 
and  that  they  were  out  at  all  hours  and  in 
all  kinds  of  weather. 

Sixty-five  had  but  entered  the  yard  when 
the  yard-master  spoke  to  James  Crissman, 
the  front  brakeman.  "  You  're  ordered  to 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  9 

report  at  the  office  the  first  thing,  Jimmy, 
my  boy." 

"What's  doing?" 

"Dunno — nothing  to  the  bad.  So  long." 
He  turned  with  watch  in  hand,  waiting  the 
second  until  he  could  give  the  passenger 
engineer  orders  to  draw  out  from  the  sta- 
tion. 

Crissman,  the  brakeman,  puckered  up  his 
brow.  A  call  to  the  superintendent's  office 
generally  meant  no  good.  He  ran  over  his 
conduct  of  the  last  few  weeks.  There  was 
nothing  in  that  to  cause  alarm.  He  had 
been  on  time.  He  had  not  stopped  in  a 
saloon  but  once  and  then  only  for  a  lunch 
for  he  was  not  a  drinking  man.  He  put 
away  his  lanterns  and  flags  and  made  his 
way  to  the  office. 

The  conference  lasted  but  a  few  minutes. 
Then  Crissman  hurried  out  and  across  the 
great  bridge  toward  home.  He  was  hold- 
ing his  head  high ;  his  lunch  bucket  swung  in 
his  hand,  and  he  whistled  for  joy. 

He  traversed  the  long,  narrow  street  to- 


10  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

ward  his  home.  Never  before  had  he 
covered  the  distance  in  so  short  a  time.  His 
feet  fairly  flew.  He  entered  the  yard,  kissed 
the  boy  who  ran  to  meet  him,  picked  up 
the  toddling  baby  and  tossed  her  high  in  the 
air,  and  then  turned  to  his  wife.  There  was 
no  need  to  tell  her  that  something  unex- 
pected had  happened. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked.  "Do  tell  me, 
Jim." 

"Trump's  been  transferred  to  Sunbury. 
He'll  make  the  run  from  there  here  on  Num- 
ber Nine.  That  leaves  a  place  on  our  crew 
and  I'm  the  man  to  step  into  it." 

"Conductor,  Jim?  You  don't  mean  it." 
She  made  an  effort  to  be  calm  but  her  knees 
trembled  under  her  so  that  she  could  not 
stand.  Sinking  into  a  chair,  she  fanned 
herself  with  her  working  apron. 

"How  things  do  come  around,"  she  said. 
"Of  course,  I  knew  you'd  get  a  raise  some- 
time, but  I  never  for  a  moment  thought  it 
would  be  so  soon.  What  will  you  get?" 

"Trump  has  never  made  less  than  a  hun- 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  11 

dred  and  thirty  dollars  a  month,  and  when 
freight's  heavy,  he's  gone  up  to  one  hundred 
and  sixty." 

"To  think  of  it!  That'll  be  five  dollars 
a  day  on  an  average." 

He  nodded  his  head,  dropped  down  on  the 
steps  near  which  she  sat,  and  mopped  his 
brow.  "Whew,  but  I'm  hot!  I  got  over 
that  bridge  on  schedule  time.  I  knew  you'd 
be  glad  to  hear  the  news.  As  I  turned  down 
Eighth  Street,  Kelly  tried  to  flag  me,  but  I 
hurried  on  home.  A  hundred  and  sixty  a 
month.  Think  of  it!" 

"I'm  thinking  as  hard  as  I  can,"  said  his 
wife.  She  neither  smiled  nor  laughed  but 
her  voice  had  a  little  excited  catch  in  it  as 
she  spoke.  The  man  looked  at  her  with  an 
expression  of  satisfaction.  He  was  so  big 
and  strong  while  she  was  so  dainty  and 
fragile  that  he  often  wondered  what  she 
saw  in  him  to  love ;  he  often  asked  her,  but 
she  replied  evasively. 

Now  as  he  let  his  eye  rest  on  her  in  ad- 
miration she  said  as  though  she  understood 


12  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

his  thoughts,  "It's  the  new  dress  I  was  mak- 
ing. I  put  the  last  stitch  in  it  this  morning, 
then  I  got  at  it  and  pressed  it.  I  wanted  to 
have  it  on  when  you  came  home.  I  felt  sure 
that  you'd  be  in  about  supper  time." 

"How'd  you  know?" 

"Mr.  Sapp  passed  here  about  dinner  time. 
He  said  that  you  had  taken  siding  at  Keat- 
ing for  the  flyer.  He  said  he  caught  a 
glimpse  of  Wright  in  the  cabin  and  knew 
that  you'd  gone  out  with  them." 

"We'd  been  in  before  the  flyer  if  there 
hadn't  been  trouble  with  an  air-brake.  We 
dragged  along  from  Sinnamahoning  to 
Keating.  We  were  so  late  there  that  we 
had  to  take  siding  and  wait  for  orders  for 
we  knew  the  Buffalo  was  due." 

She  smoothed  out  her  gown.  "I  rather 
like  my  dress,  though  I  wished  I'd  not  made 
short  sleeves.  Somehow  it  looks  kind  of 
girlish  to  go  about  showing  your  arms." 

"What  if  it  does?  Hain't  you  a  girl? 
Yes,  I  know  what  you're  going  to  say — but 
you  don't  look  it.  If  I  didn't  know,  I'd 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  13 

say  you  weren't  a  day  over  eighteen.  That 
dress  is  all  right.  It's  a  dandy.  I  tell  you 
what,  Allie,  you  can  get  what  you  want  with 
this  raise.  I  like  to  see  a  woman  fixed  up. 
There'll  be  no  use  in  you're  doing  without 
anything  you  need." 

"You  talk  as  though  I'd  been  wearing 
rags  and  eating  crusts.  I've  had  all  I  need 
ever  since  I've  been  married,  and  I  could 
have  gotten  along  on  less.  There's  plenty 
of  women  who  have." 

"But  you  counted  close  to  do  it.  You've 
skimped  and  saved  a  penny  many  a  time 
when  I  would  have  let  her  go.  I  tell  you 
when  M.  A.  R.  told  me  this  morning  about 
the  raise  I  could  scarcely  wait  until  I  got 
across  the  bridge  to  tell  the  old  woman  and 
the  kids."  He  gave  her  arm  a  playful 
pinch  and,  turning,  picked  up  the  children 
and  held  one  on  each  knee. 

"What  I  am  pleased  with  most  of  all  is 
about  finishing  paying  for  the  house.  You 
don't  know  how  I  hated  to  pay  out  that  in- 
terest," she  said  with  a  sweet  seriousness  in 


14  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

her  voice  and  expression.  "Of  course,  I 
knew  it  was  less  than  we  would  have  paid 
out  for  rent,  but  just'  the  same  it  seemed 
such  a  lot." 

"But  that's  done  for  or  will  be  soon.  I 
can  pay  off  Ruley  the  day  the  money's  due. 
I  tell  you  we  haven't  done  so  bad.  The  lot 
has  doubled  in  value  since  we  took  it.  It's 
worth  three  thousand  now  if  it's  worth  a 
cent.  I  could  get  that  in  cash  any  day  and 
five  years  from  now  it  will  be  worth  a  good 
bit  more." 

"The  money's  due  in  September.  I  sup- 
pose it's  a  woman's  way  of  being  anxious, 
but  I  won't  be  easy  until  every  cent's  paid." 

"I  bet  on  it;  a  woman's  always  looking 
around  for  something  to  worry  about;  and 
if  she  can't  find  any  good  reason  she  begins 
to  worry  because  she's  afraid  that  there's 
something  to  worry  about  and  she's  not  do- 
ing it.  There's  money  enough  in  Lane's 
bank  to  pay  that  debt  and  more  too.  I'd 
pay  it  this  minute  if  Ruley  would  let  me, 
but  he's  not  going  to  give  up  a  good  solid 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  15 

six  per  cent,  one  minute  before  he  has  to. 
But  wait  until  the  fifth  day  of  September 
and  it  will  be  ours — every  nail  of  it.  Then 
we'll  fix  things  up.  I've  always  wanted  a 
big  covered  back  porch  where  I  can  sit  in 
my  shirt  sleeves  when  the  weather's  warm 
and  smoke  without  shocking  the  neighbors. 
We'll  put  on  a  slate  roof — it  costs  like  sixty 
but  it  pays  in  the  end,  and  cement  walks  and 
iron  fences.  Whatever  we  fix,  we'll  fix  to 
stay.  Hain't  that  so,  toddlekins?"  and  he 
tickled  the  baby  as  he  spoke  and  she  laughed 
aloud. 

"  Daddy  means  to  get  the  pretty  thing  for 
you  kids  after  while — you'll  have  all  that's 
going." 

He  tossed  Laura  in  the  air,  and  gave 
Thomas  a  ride  on  his  foot  before  he  spoke 
again.  When  he  did  so,  his  voice  had  a 
touch  of  regret  in  it.  The  woman  who 
heard,  and  who  understood  him  as  no  one 
else  did,  could  scarcely  keep  the  tears  from 
her  eyes.  She  knew  how  hard  his  life  had 
been  without  the  freedom  of  childhood  or 


16  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

the  love  and  protection  of  a  father  worthy 
the  name.  She  knew  that  his  soul  cried  out 
for  the  finer  things  of  life.  He  had  longed 
to  walk  in  the  world  of  science  and  learning 
He  keenly  felt  his  ignorance  and  lack  of 
training  but  the  things  which  he  had  desireu 
most  in  his  youth  had  been  denied  him ;  and 
a  sadness  and  a  regret  were  always  with  him. 
"I  wasn't  thinking  of  myself,"  he  said 
slowly  and  seriously.  "I  don't  want  my 
boy  knocked  around  as  I  was — never  sent 
to  school  after  I  was  able  to  do  a  bit  of  work. 
There  hain't  a  day  passes  that  I  don't  feel 
the  lack  of  learning.  I  made  up  my  mind 
that  my  boy  and  girl  were  going  to  have  a 
chance  if  I  could  give  it  to  them.  They'll 
be  kept  in  school  and  they'll  have  a  home 
and  plenty  to  eat  if  I  have  to  drag  myself 
out  to  earn  it.  We'll  lay  a  little  by  and  if 
they  want  to  go  away  to  school  when  they've 
finished  here,  we'll  have  the  money  ready. 
But  we'll  give  them  a  chance  to  look  about 
and  get  ready  for  work.  They'll  not  be 
pushed  into  it  when  they're  only  babies." 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  17 

His  wife  leaned  forward  and  rested  her 
hand  on  his  shoulder.  It  was  like  a  caress 
to  him,  giving  him  sympathy,  affection  and 
Confidence. 

A  "When  I  was  a  kid,"  he  began  again,  "I 
ased  to  think  that  I'd  like  to  be  a  doctor — 
not  just  a  little  runt  sitting  in  an  office  and 
tying  up  pills,  but  one  that  knew  his  runs 
and  had  a  clear  track.  I've  seen  men 
mangled  up  and  the  doctors  cut  off  a  leg 
without  trying  to  see  if  it  could  be  made 
solid  again.  I  wouldn't  be  that  kind.  I'd 
hang  out  to  save  a  man's  limb  until  there 
vvould  be  only  a  question  between  it  and 
death.  Even  then  I'd  not  hurry,  for  some 
of  us  would  rather  be  dead  altogether  than 
go  through  life  just  half  a  man.  I  always 
wanted  to  be  a  surgeon." 

"But  it  wasn't  to  be,  Jim.  Perhaps  if 
you  had  gone  away  to  school  and  been  a 
great  doctor,  you  wouldn't  have  met  me;  or 
if  you  had,  I  would  have  seemed  so  ignorant 
that  you  would  not  have  cared  for  me." 

"I'd  care  for  you  whatever  I  was.    I 


18  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

wouldn't  have  thought  about  what  you 
knew.  I'd  just  said  to  myself,  'There's  the 
girl  I  want  for  my  wife,'  and  that  would 
have  been  you  every  time — whether  I  was 
a  big  surgeon  or  only  a  train  runner." 

"Of  course  you'd  say  that  now.  It 
wouldn't  be  nice  to  say  anything  else."  A 
flush  had  come  to  her  cheeks  as  he  spoke  and 
a  sparkle  to  her  eyes. 

"No,  that's  honest.  I'm  not  just  saying 
it.  But  I  was  telling  you  about  wanting 
to  be  a  surgeon.  I  can't  be  that  now.  The 
time's  past  for  such  work  for  me.  I  can 
be  a  conductor,  it  seems — at  least  the  men 
think  so,  and  I'll  be  the  best  one  that  I  can 
be.  But  what  I  can't  be  myself,  I  mean 
Thomas  to  be.  I  tell  you  that  there's  noth- 
ing else  in  the  world  I'd  want,  if  I  could 
see  him  a  fine  doctor.  I  want  him  a  good 
one  or  none  at  all.  If  he's  got  the  brains 
and  will  do  it,  I'll  see  that  he  has  the 
money." 

"He's  got  the  brains,"  said  the  mother 
proudly.  ".Why,  think,  Jim,  he  hasn't  been 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  19 

in  school  a  day  and  yet  he  can  read  any  part 
of  that  first  reader!  He  just  picked  it  up 
himself.  I  didn't  make  him  work;  but  he'd 
come  to  me  and  ask  me  what  the  word  was 
and  I'd  tell  him,  'Willie'  or  'slate'  or  what- 
ever the  word  was  and  there  before  I  knew 
it,  he  was  reading  as  easy  as  could  be,  'Willie 
has  a  slate.'  " 

"He  takes  after  you  on  that,  Alice."  He 
sat  a  moment  thinking  seriously,  then  con- 
tinued. "I  won't  run  myself  down  though. 
I  could  have  learned  something  if  I'd  had  a 
chance.  I  hain't  dumb.  I've  got  it  in  me 
to  learn,  and  I've  picked  up  what  I  could. 
Lack  of  brains  wasn't  what  kept  me  back. 
Men  that  knew  my  father  say  that  he  was 
smart  as  a  whip  and  that  he  knew  how  to 
work.  That  was  before  he  got  so  run  down. 
But  I  don't  remember  him  that  way.  I 
know  only  how  afraid  I  was  whenever  he'd 
come  in  and  how  I  would  run  off  and  hide, 
and  how  he'd  take  my  wages  right  out  of  my 
hand  and  I  was  so  afraid  that  I  didn't  dare 
open  my  mouth.  But  at  last  I  thought  it 


20  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

out.  I'd  order  things  at  the  grocer's  and 
pay  for  them  before  I'd  get  home  and — " 

"Yes;  Jim,  but  let's  don't  talk  of  it  now. 
It  was  pretty  hard;  but  it's  no  use  feeling 
so  about  what's  gone.  We'll  give  Thomas 
a  chance — or  you  will.  I  can't  earn  like 
lots  of  women.  My  own  sewing  worries  me, 
and  if  I  would  try  to  do  something  for  the 
children  I'd — " 

"Hain't  you  doing  lots?  Don't  you  sew 
for  them  and  get  their  meals  and  see  that 
they're  well  and  don't  you  save  where  I'd 
spend  ?  When  it  comes  to  doing  something 
for  them,  I'm  not  in  it  with  you.  Earning 
the  money  hain't  half  of  the  game.  Why, 
Allie,  I  couldn't  possibly  do  what  you  do — 
ten  thousand  things  a  day.  I'd  forget  half 
of  them." 

Her  face  dimpled  with  delight.  "Here 
I'm  forgetting  supper-time  and  me  here 
talking  as  though  I  hadn't  a  thing  to  do.  It 
won't  take  me  long.  I  got  most  of  it  ready 
this  morning." 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  21 

She  went  into  the  house.  The  man  fussed 
with  the  children  a  few  minutes  and  then 
joined  her  at  her  work. 

"Do  you  remember  that  big  Tony  Rin- 
allo?"  he  asked  as  he  came  into  the  kitchen. 
"That  big  Dago  who  used  to  work  on  the 
street?" 

"Yes,  indeed.  I  used  to  be  afraid  of  him. 
What  made  you  think  of  him*?" 

"He  was  hurt  yesterday.  He's  been 
working  up  at  the  quarry  and  a  blast  went 
off  before  the  Dagos  got  out  of  the  way. 
We  knew  that  something  was  wrong  but 
couldn  't  tell  what.  We  were  running  forty 
miles  an  hour  and  just  as  we  passed  the  O. 
K.  tower,  we  saw  the  Dagos  running  back 
and  yelling." 

"Didn't  you  stop?" 

"Stop!  No;  we're  not  running  trains  as 
we  please.  A  few  Dagos,  more  or  less, 
won't  matter.  There'll  be  more  trouble  up 
there.  Deise  told  me  they  used  dynamite 
and  the  Dagos  used  as  much  as  was  handy. 


22  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

The  foreman's  off  for  a  visit  and  he  let  the 
foreigners  run  without  orders.  If  someone 
don't  flag  them,  there'll  be  trouble." 

"It's  too  bad."  She  turned  to  the  stove 
and  began  to  dish  up  the  meal. 

"Will  you  carry  in  the  coffee,  Jim?  I'll 
take  these  in  and  then  supper '11  be  ready." 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  RUMOR 

The  main  street  of  the  town  faced  the 
railroad.  The  stores  were  large  and  carried 
a  fine  line  of  goods  in  proportion  to  the  size 
of  the  town.  The  people  on  the  whole  were 
good  buyers,  for  the  men  made  excellent 
wages  and  work  was  steady.  There  were 
no  poor.  Only  at  rare  intervals  did  any  of 
the  people  of  the  town  need  help.  If  one 
did  without  the  comforts  of  life,  it  was  be- 
cause he  was  constitutionally  opposed  to  ef- 
fort of  any  kind,  for  the  work  was  there  cry- 
ing out  to  be  done. 

This  main  thoroughfare  had  more  than  its 
quota  of  saloons.  One  or  two  had  attained 
the  dignity  of  being  hotels ;  the  others  were 
drinking-places  doing  business  regardless  of 

23 


24  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

law,  and  flaunting  their  law  breaking  in 
the  face  of  an  unconcerned  public. 

Before  these  places  were  lines  of  loafers, 
their  chairs  tilted  back  against  the  side  of 
the  building,  their  feet  stuck  out  on  the 
thoroughfare,  and  with  cigars  or  tobacco 
in  use.  These  groups  varied  in  harmony 
with  the  place  about  which  they  loafed. 
About  the  principal  hotel  were  well-dressed 
men  in  tailored  suits,  patent-leather  shoes, 
smoking  high-priced  cigars.  Further  down 
the  street  were  those  who  were  at  the  lower 
rung  of  the  ladder  with  no  ambition  or  pros- 
pect of  rising. 

These  groups  rolled  with  delectable  palate 
every  bit  of  gossip  in  town  and  chewed  the 
cud  of  scandal  as  a  cow  does  one  of  grass. 

The  leading  spirit  who  occupied  a  chair 
before  the  big  hotel  was  Pat  Eussel,  a  wit, 
a  wag,  the  spirit  of  humor  and  repartee. 
He  was  not  a  shop  man  but  had  won  an  in- 
dependent fortune  in  the  management  of 
brick-works  and  quarries.  He  was  clean 
shaven  and  immaculate,  with  the  map  of 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  25 

Ireland  on  his  face  and  the  twist  of  her 
language  on  his  tongue.  He  was  slow  in 
speech  and  droll  in  his  humor;  a  friend  to 
a  friend,  and  an  enemy  to  an  enemy.  Years 
before  he  had  had  an  unpleasant  experience 
with  Lane,  the  cashier  of  the  private  bank 
of  the  town.  Lane,  Russel  declared,  had 
done  him  a  dirty  trick.  That  had  been  a 
score  of  years  before,  when  Lane  had  but 
started  to  push  his  way  in  the  world. 

Russel  had  mentioned  the  matter  to  no 
one  since  then,  and  those  who  knew  aught 
about  it  supposed  that  he  had  forgotten  it 
long  ago,  but  gave  the  banker  a  wide  berth. 
There  was  but  a  nod  in  passing,  but  no 
further  exchange  of  courtesy.  Neverthe- 
less he  remembered  the  trick  and  waited  his 
time  to  settle  accounts  and  close  the  books. 

This  particular  evening,  he  had  a  small 
group  about  him  who  listened  attentively 
to  what  he  was  saying.  He  spoke  slowly 
in  a  low,  full  voice  that  always  had  in  it  a 
touch  of  sadness  whether  the  subject  under 
discussion  was  humorous  or  otherwise. 


28  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

"I've  heard,  but  of  course  I'm  not  telling 
it  as  a  fact.  I  pass  it  on  to  you  as  it  came 
to  me." 

"Did  you  hear  how  much?" 

"A  mere  trifle.  Fifteen  thousand,  I 
heard.  Not  enough  to  put  him  out  of  busi- 
ness, just  enough  to  keep  him  thinking 
late." 

"Fifteen  thousand  this  time,  and  perhaps 
fifty  next  time.  When  a  man  starts  specu- 
lating he  loses  his  senses,"  said  one  of  the 
men  with  a  show  of  feeling. 

"Not  when  he  starts — but  just  before  he 
starts,  my  son,"  said  Pat  dryly.  "What's 
fifty  thousand  to  a  man  when  it's  not  his 
own?" 

"He'll  not  speculate  with  mine,"  said  one 
of  the  group.  "I  haven't  much  but  I'll 
draw  out  every  cent  to-morrow.  I'm  not 
sweating  ten  hours  a  day  to  feed  lambs  to 
Wall  Street." 

"Gently,  my  son,  gently,"  with  a  sidewise 
gesture  of  his  palm.  "Would  you  deny  the 
man  his  fling?  You've  not  lost  yet.  J 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  27 

can't  see  how  you  can.  They  Ve  real  estate 
here  that's  surety  enough  for  depositors. 
Now  this  Park  Street  row." 

There  was  a  snort  of  disgust  from  one  of 
the  group.  "Park  Street  property!  That 
was  disposed  of  ten  days  ago.  I'm  in  po- 
sition to  know  about  it.  It  isn't  hearsay. 
It  brought  twenty  thousand. " 

1 '  Twenty  thousand !  And  it 's  worth  thirty 
any  day!  If  they  wanted  to  get  rid  of  it, 
why  didn't  they  advertise?  I'd  made  good 
for  twenty-five  thousand  myself.  Are  the 
heirs  in  business  to  cheat  themselves?" 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment.  The 
Park  Street  tenements  would  have  been  sold 
for  a  song  if  they  had  been  disposed  of  at 
thirty  thousand.  A  quiet  sale,  too.  To 
what  did  such  signs  point?  They  had  not 
reached  a  conclusion  before  Pat  continued 
with  his  airy,  graceful  gesture.  "Twenty 
thousand!  I  suppose  that  went  to  fill  up 
the  gap  made  by  the  bears.  Well,  well !  It 
don't  pay  for  a  country  lad  to  go  hunting 
bears  on  Wall  Street." 


28  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

"I'm  glad  I  heard  this  piece  of  news. 
I'll  do  my  banking  business  somewhere  else, 
and  I'll  start  at  eight  o'clock  to-morrow 
morning. ' ' 

"You're  as  concerned  as  a  mother  hen 
with  a  small  duck.  Go  gently,  my  son. 
There's  no  danger,  and  I  don't  want  you  to 
be  suspicious  of  Lane.  He  has  a  reputation 
of  being  a  good  business  man.  As  far  as 
the  Park  Street  tenements  go,  they  may 
mean  nothing.  There's  plenty  of  other 
Lane  estate  property  in  town." 

"And  all  mortgaged  to  the  last  cent." 
This  remark  was  from  a  stranger,  a  travel- 
ing salesman  who  had  been  listening.  The 
others  turned  toward  him  with  an  expres- 
sion of  inquiry. 

"I  know,"  he  said  in  answer  to  their 
looks.  "I  came  here  to  put  up  presses  and 
office  fittings  for  a  daily  paper.  The  Lane 
estate  could  not  only  not  pay  cash  but 
couldn't  give  a  first  mortgage  on  one  prop- 
erty in  its  name." 

Pat  gave  his  characteristic  gesture  and 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  29 

turned  away  from  the  group.  He  had  in 
mind  the  time  when  Lane  had  driven  him 
to  the  wall  almost  twenty  years  before.  He 
had  started  the  ball  rolling.  It  would  grow 
until  it  was  big  enough  to  crush  Lane's  busi- 
ness into  atoms.  He  saw  Jim  Crissman 
coming  down  the  street.  He  was  several 
squares  away  but  Pat's  sharp  eyes  noted 
him.  He  drew  him  aside  as  he  came  near. 

"I've  a  word  for  your  ear,  my  son,"  he 
said.  Jim  drew  from  the  crowd  of  men  and 
came  close.  He  was  always  a  man  of  few 
words  except  with  those  he  knew  well  and 
now  he  stood  silent  until  Pat  was  ready  to 
speak. 

"I  want  to  put  you  next  to  a  little  busi- 
ness transaction  that's  taken  place  with 
some  of  your  friends." 

"Well?" 

"I  haven't  lived  in  this  little  village,  my 
son,  and  seen  you  grow  up  without  learning 
a  thing  or  two.  You've  not  been  spending 
money.  You've  been  laying  a  little  by." 

"A  little— yes. 


30  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

"A  word  to  you  then.  There's  a  rumor 
that  our  banker  has  been  taking  a  few  flyers 
on  the  market.  There'll  be  a  run  on  the 
bank  to-morrow.  If  I'd  as  much  as  a 
dollar  there,  I'd  have  it  in  my  inside  pocket 
to-morrow.  Just  a  word  to  the  wise  is  suf- 
ficient. I'm  walking  on."  He  waved  his 
hand  with  stately  grace  and  walked  on. 

His  words  troubled  Jim.  He  had  two 
thousand  dollars,  every  cent  of  which  meant 
hard  work  and  self-denial.  He  did  not 
know  what  to  think.  He  had  never  let  the 
word  of  one  man  influence  his  actions.  Yet 
Pat  Russel  was  a  keen  business  man  and 
knew  the  value  of  the  dollar.  He  was  not 
one  to  speak  at  random.  His  statements 
held  water. 

In  this  uncertain  condition  of  mind,  he 
joined  the  group  of  which  the  commercial 
traveler  was  now  the  center.  They  too 
were  discussing  the  possibility  of  the  bank 
failing.  Jim  Crissman  stood  and  listened, 
not  knowing  that  Pat  Russel  had  put  the 
idea  into  their  minds  as  he  had  into  his. 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  31 

At  last  he  turned  away.  "It  seems  to  be 
the  general  impression,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"I'm  glad  Russel  hung  out  the  red  flag. 
It  might  have  been  a  head-on  collision  with 
me.  I'll  go  home  and  tell  Allie.  I'll  talk 
it  over  with  her." 

The  children  were  in  bed  when  he  reached 
home.  Alice  in  her  new  white  linen  dress 
was  sitting  in  the  living-room,  putting  a  few 
last  stitches  into  her  weekly  mending. 

"I  had  a  talk  with  Russel  down  town," 
he  said,  sitting  down  beside  her.  "He 
thinks  Lane's  bank  is  about  ready  to  go 
under."  Then  without  further  questioning 
he  told  her  of  the  word  Russel  had  passed 
on  to  him. 

She  listened  until  he  had  finished  and  then 
said  pertinently,  "Russel  has  been  mad  at 
Lane  ever  since  Lane  put  him  out  of  busi- 
ness. I  suppose  he's  waiting  his  chance  to 
get  even." 

"There  is  not  a  better  fellow  in  town  than 
just  Pat  Russel.  There's  nothing  he 
wouldn't  do  for  a  fellow." 


32  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

"When  the  fellow's  his  friend,  Jim.  And 
there's  nothing  he  wouldn't  do  against  one 
that  isn't.  In  this  case  I'd  take  his  words 
with  a  pinch  of  salt." 

"I'd  about  made  up  my  mind  to  get  the 
money  the  first  thing  in  the  morning.  I'd 
hate  like  sixty  to  lose  it." 

"So  would  I,  but  I  don't  think  there's  a 
bit  of  danger,  Jim.  Pat  Russel  has  started 
the  report  to  harm  Lane  if  he  can.  What 
if  he  did  lose  fifteen  thousand  dollars? 
There's  blocks  enough  here  in  town,  belong- 
ing to  the  Lane  heirs  to  satisfy  every  cred- 
itor if  the  bank  fails." 

In  spite  of  his  wife's  confidence,  Jim 
Crissman  went  to  bed  that  night  with  an 
uneasy  feeling.  But  after  a  good  night's 
sleep  he  was  more  confident  and  decided  to 
let  the  money  lie  in  the  bank  for  a  while  at 
least.  Meanwhile  he  would  be  on  the  alert 
and  if  fresh  rumors  came  to  his  ears,  he 
would  withdraw  his  money.  There  were 
numerous  duties  to  keep  him  busy  about  the 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  33 

house  until  dinner-time,  so  that  the  after- 
noon came  before  he  went  out. 

There  were  no  loafers  at  this  time  of  day 
— only  here  and  there  a  straggler  or  a  train- 
man waiting  to  be  called  out.  But  he  had 
not  gone  a  square  before  he  again  heard  the 
report  of  the  possible  failure  of  the  bank. 

RussePs  words  of  the  evening  before, 
whether  they  were  true  or  false,  had  caused 
a  run  on  the  bank.  So  far  every  demand 
had  been  met  without  hesitancy;  but  if  the 
report  gained  credence  and  the  run  con- 
tinued, it  was  doubtful  if  the  bank  could 
honor  its  own  checks.  A  few  hours  of  con- 
fidence might  save  it,  or  a  few  hours  of  lack 
of  confidence  push  it  to  the  wall. 

James  Crissman  walked  down  the  street 
on  which  the  bank  stood.  He  had  not  made 
up  his  mind  what  course  he  would  take.  As 
he  turned  into  the  square,  he  met  a  half- 
dozen  good  business  men  on  their  way  from 
Lane's.  They  had  looked  to  their  own  in- 
terest and  put  themselves  on  the  safe  side. 


34  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

In  an  instant  Crissman  decided.  "I'll  be 
on  the  safe  side  along  with  the  rest,"  he 
argued.  "If  nothing  happens  and  affairs 
move  along,  it  will  be  an  easy  matter  to  de- 
posit it  again. " 

He  walked  into  the  bank,  drew  up  a  check, 
counted  over  the  bills  given  him,  and  slip- 
ping them  into  an  inner  pocket,  left  the 
building.  The  bank  was  pretty  well  filled  at 
this  time.  A  dozen  men  were  waiting  their 
turn,  one  or  two  of  whom  he  knew  merely 
by  sight. 

The  train  crews  were  written  up  on  the 
bulletin  before  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  building, 
He  walked  down  that  way  and  found  he 
was  fifth  out.  That  might  mean  any  time 
within  the  next  twelve  hours,  yet  it  was 
hardly  possible  that  he  would  be  called  be- 
fore morning.  There  was  no  hurry  so  he 
stopped  to  talk  to  several  of  the  men  about 
the  reading-rooms  and  then  walked  over  to 
an  adjoining  hotel  with  one  of  the  trainmen 
who  wished  to  see  a  man.  These  matters 
kept  him  until  almost  six  o'clock.  He  went 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  35 

home  then  to  find  supper  waiting  for  him. 
He  told  Alice  at  once  about  withdrawing 
the  money. 

She  was  a  wise  little  soul  who,  when  a 
thing  was  done,  never  wasted  energy  in  find- 
ing fault. 

"Well,  if  you  think  it's  best,  Jim,"  she 
said,  "I  suppose  it's  all  right.  But  don't 
leave  the  money  about  where  I  know  any- 
thing about  it.  I'd  be  worried  sick  for  fear 
it  might  be  stolen." 

"I'll  fix  it  good  and  safe.  Don't  you 
worry  yourself,  Allie."  She  was  about  to 
pour  him  a  second  cup  of  coffee,  and  he  gave 
the  hand  which  held  it  out  to  him  an  en- 
couraging little  pat.  "Don't  give  it  a 
thought,  Allie.  I'll  put  it  in  a  safe  place." 

He  had  but  spoken  when  the  front  door- 
bell rang.  With  bustling,  housewifely  in- 
terest Allie  hurried  to  the  door  to  find  there 
a  fine-looking  stranger  who  inquired  if  Mr. 
Crissman  was  at  home. 

"Yes;  will  you  come  in?" 

"Is  he  in  the  house?" 


36  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

"Yes;  come  in.  I  will  call  him.  He's  at 
supper." 

But  at  this  the  stranger  moved  from  the 
door.  "I  did  not  want  to  see  him,"  he  said 
lamely.  "I  just  wished  to  be  sure  that  he 
was  at  home." 

At  this  her  fears  bristled  up.  She 
straightened  her  shoulders  and  looked  him 
straight  in  the  eye. 

"This  is  rather  a  queer  performance," 
she  said.  "Why  did  you  come  to  his  house 
to  ask  about  him  if  you  did  not  wish  to  see 
him?  I  cannot  understand  such  actions." 

The  face  of  the  stranger  flushed.  "I  sup- 
pose it  does  seem  strange.  I  didn't  think 
of  that.  But  I'll  tell  you.  My  name  is 
Smith — the  man  who  has  the  lumber  job  up 
Paddy's  Bun.  I  was  in  the  bank  this  after- 
noon when  your  husband  drew  out  quite  a 
little  roll  of  money.  I  was  away  back  in  the 
line.  There  were  two  men  standing  off  at 
the  side — deadbeats  both  of  them.  I  caught 
a  look  that  passed  between  them  and  I  de- 
cided I'd  keep  my  eye  on  them.  When 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  37 

Crissman  left  they  were  not  far  behind  him. 
They  hung  outside  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  while 
he  was  inside;  and  they  were  in  the  hotel 
when  he  was  there.  I  saw  him  start  home 
up  the  tracks  and  those  two  bums  watched 
him  from  a  corner.  Someone  spoke  to  me 
just  then  and  I  lost  track  of  the  three  of 
them.  I  thought  I'd  come  around  and  see 
if  he  was  at  home.  I  felt  uneasy. " 

He  did  not  wait  for  further  speech,  but 
turned  away  and  was  at  the  gate  before  she 
had  recovered  sufficiently  from  her  surprise 
to  thank  him.  When  he  had  given  his  name 
she  recognized  him  as  the  Mr.  Smith  who 
was  lumbering  up  the  Bun,  and  she  knew 
that  he  was  a  man  to  be  depended  upon. 

Locking  and  bolting  the  front  door,  she 
went  back  to  the  dining-room.  She  was 
really  much  excited  and  worried,  but  treated 
the  matter  as  lightly  as  she  could  when  she 
told  her  husband. 

"I  want  you  to  promise  one  thing,  Jim," 
she  said  when  she  had  finished  the  story. 
1  'That  is  that  you  will  not  come  up  that 


38  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

lonely  way  by  the  tracks.  It  will  only  take 
you  a  few  minutes  more  to  come  by  the 
street.  It's  lighted  and  there's  always 
someone  about.  I'll  feel  safe  if  you  prom- 
ise me  that." 

11  There's  no  danger  along  the  track. 
There's  always  yardmen  in  sight.  Nothing 
could  happen  to  a  fellow  without  some  of 
them  seeing;  but  if  it  will  save  you  any 
worry,  I'll  promise.  I'll  keep  to  the  middle 
of  the  walk  and  I'll  come  home  down  Erie 
Avenue.  Does  that  satisfy  you?" 

He  laughed  aloud  at  her  concern. 

1 1 It's  just  as  well  to  be  on  the  safe  side," 
she  said,  annoyed  at  his  laugh.  "You  may 
be  glad  some  day  that  you  made  the  prom- 


ise.' 


"I  think  I'll  count  over  the  money,"  he 
said,  "and  be  sure  that  it's  all  here  before 
I  put  it  away." 

He  took  out  the  roll  of  bills  and  counted 
them  over.  "Eight  one-hundreds  and  fifty 
twenties,"  he  said.  "It's  all  there."  He 
looked  at  it  reflectively.  "I  tell  you  that's 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  39 

meant  a  good  many  hours  of  hard  work  and 
a  good  bit  of  going  without  what  I  wanted. 
Why,  the  first  year  I  made  up  my  mind 
to  save,  Allie,  I  hadn't  a  suit  to  my  back — 
just  my  working  clothes  and  the  shoes  that 
I  wore  right  along  were  so  patched  and 
mended  that  a  tramp  would  have  felt  in- 
sulted if  I  had  offered  them  to  him.  But 
that  time's  gone  now  and  we've  got  a  start. 
The  hardest  pull's  over.  We'll  pay  for  the 
house  and  we'll  live  well  and  have  a  few 
dollars  to  lay  by.  I  tell  you  there's  nothing 
that  makes  a  man  feel  as  good  as  knowing 
he  can  provide  for  his  folks  and  not  ask 
favors  of  anyone." 

With  the  money  in  his  hand  he  got  up 
from  the  table  and  left  the  dining-room. 
Alice  began  to  clear  off  the  table  and 
wash  the  dishes.  She  heard  Jim  moving 
about  upstairs  and  she  smiled  to  herself  as 
she  thought  how  secretly  he  was  hiding  the 
money.  She  could  hear  him  opening  bureau 
drawers  and  fussing  about  in  the  awkward, 
noisy  way  that  was  his. 


40  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

The  baby  was  cooing  in  her  high  chair, 
and  Thomas  was  fussing  about  to  go  up- 
stairs to  his  father.  But  Alice  kept  him 
with  her. 

"Father  is  busy  now.  He  doesn't  want 
you  with  him,"  she  said.  "Be  a  good  boy 
and  father  will  soon  be  here." 

It  was  but  a  few  minutes  when  Jim  came 
downstairs  and  passed  through  the  kitchen 
into  the  back  yard,  Thomas  following. 

"You'd  better  split  some  kindling  in  case 
you'd  be  called  out  early,"  she  called  after 
him. 

She  heard  him  fussing  about  in  the  wood- 
shed and  later  the  sound  of  an  axe.  Then 
Thomas  came  in  with  tears  in  his  eyes. 
"Papa's  took  my  pretty  red  box,"  he  said, 
hiding  his  face  in  his  mother's  skirt.  "I 
want  it." 

His  father  followed  with  an  armload  of 
kindling.  Getting  rid  of  the  wood,  he 
turned  and  caught  the  boy  up  in  his  arms. 

"That's  too  bad,  youngster!  But  don't 
cry.  I'll  get  you  a  prettier  box,  the  first 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  41 

time  I  go  down  street  and  I'll  put  some 
pennies  in  it  for  you.  There,  be  a  big  man 
and  don't  cry."  He  turned  to  Alice.  "I 
took  that  tin  box  to  put  the  money  in.  Mice 
or  rats  can't  gnaw  into  that  and  it  won't 
get  damp." 

She  smiled.  "I  knew  you  couldn't  keep 
a  secret.  I  knew  you'd  tell  me  where  you 
put  it  before  you'd  sleep." 

"But  I  haven't  told  you.  It's  in  the  box. 
But  where's  the  box?  That  will  keep  you 
guessing,  old  lady." 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  FIRST  RUN 

In  spite  of  being  nervous,  Alice  fell  into 
a  sound  sleep  almost  as  soon  as  her  head 
touched  the  pillow.  Fortunately  for  her, 
the  day  had  been  a  busy  one,  as  were  most 
of  her  days.  She  had  put  the  house  in 
order,  baked  and  prepared  food  suitable  for 
the  lunch  bucket,  bathed  and  dressed  the 
children;  finished  a  white  dress  for  herself 
and  put  the  last  stitches  in  the  weekly  mend- 
ing for  the  family. 

She  wakened  with  a  start.  Someone  was 
pounding  on  the  side  door  directly  below 
their  bedroom  window.  Her  first  thought 
was  that  someone  was  breaking  in  to  rob 
them.  She  was  trembling  with  fear  but 
fortunately  Jim  was  more  wide-awake  than 

43 


44  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

she  and  was  already  at  the  window  with  his 
head  half  way  out. 

"Hello,  there!"  he  cried.  "What  do  you 
want?" 

"It's  Crandall.  You're  called  for  Sixty- 
five  on  time." 

"I  don't  know  what  time  that  is,  Crandy. 
This  is  my  first  time  out." 

"At  one-thirty." 

' '  All  right.    What  does  it  show  up  now  1 ' ' 

"A  quarter  past  twelve." 

"All  right,  but  it's  a  pity  you  couldn't  call 
a  fellow  earlier." 

"How  could  I?  You  were  marked  up 
early,  but  Bennet's  sick  and  I've  gone  from 
one  end  of  the  town  to  the  other.  I  haven't 
called  upon  Bowman  yet  and  he's  clear 
across  the  bridge." 

He  called  back  his  speech  as  he  hurried 
along.  Crissman  paid  little  heed  to  him. 

"I  have  to  go  out  at  one-thirty,  Allie." 
But  she  was  already  out  of  bed  and  lighting 
the  lamp. 

"You  don't  need  to  get  up,"  he  said. 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  45 

"I'll  cook  myself  a  few  eggs  and  pack  my 
bucket.  Go  back  to  bed  and  get  your 
sleep. " 

"Indeed,  I  won't!  Do  you  think  I'm  go- 
ing to  let  you  go  off  that  way?  I'll  slip  on 
a  dressing  sacque  and  slippers.  I  won't 
bother  about  dressing." 

She  was  ready  in  a  few  minutes  and  in  the 
kitchen  where  a  coal  fire  was  burning.  She 
stuck  in  a  few  sticks  of  light  wood,  put  on 
the  kettle  and  began  to  grind  coffee.  With 
wonderful  dispatch  she  soon  had  hot  coffee, 
ham  and  eggs  ready  for  his  breakfast. 
While  he  ate,  she  packed  his  bucket,  keep- 
ing up  a  running  fire  of  conversation. 

"I  have  a  custard  for  your  lunch,"  and 
she  held  up  the  small  cup  in  which  it  had 
been  baked.  '  *  It  turned  out  lovely.  There 's 
veal  loaf  left  from  supper  and  there's  cold 
ham,  too.  Which  would  you  rather  have, 
Jim?  I'll  put  a  little  of  both  in.  Maybe 
some  of  the  other  men  would  like  a  little 
extra!" 

"Whew,"  he  cried  at  last,  looking  at  his 


46  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

watch.  "Five  minutes  of  one!  IVe  got  to 
start." 

He  took  up  his  cap  and  bucket.  His  wife 
followed  him  to  the  door,  a  look  of  wistful 
tenderness  on  her  face.  "With  his  hand 
upon  the  knob,  he  drew  her  toward  him,  and 
gave  her  a  hearty  kiss.  "Good-bye,  Allie. 
Now  lock  the  door  and  go  up  to  bed  right 
away.  Take  good  care  of  the  kids.  I'll  be 
in  to-morrow  morning  some  time." 

He  closed  the  door  after  him,  then  stood 
listening  until  he  heard  her  turn  the  key. 
Satisfied  that  she  was  safe  from  harm,  he 
went  on  his  way  whistling  cheerfully 
through  the  dark, — a  great,  strong  man 
fearful  of  nothing  which  lay  before  him — 
a  giant  in  physical  and  moral  strength,  yet 
as  simple-minded  and  as  tender-hearted  as 
a  child. 

Eemembering  the  promise  given  to  his 
wife  to  avoid  the  short  cuts  across  the  un- 
lighted  tracks,  he  made  his  way  down  the 
main  street.  It  was  one  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  yet  a  few  saloons  were  yet  open 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  47 

for  business.  As  he  went  up  the  steps  to 
the  foot  bridge,  he  met  Kepperly,  his  rear 
brakeman,  and  together  they  went  into  the 
yard  office.  The  train  was  -already  made 
up.  The  engineer  was  bringing  his  engine 
from  the  roundhouse.  One  of  the  hostlers, 
black  and  grimy,  stood  near  the  track  of  the 
turntable  and  passed  a  few  light  words  with 
him. 

The  engine  with  its  fireman  and  engineer 
ran  up  to  the  switch  at  the  end  of  the  yard, 
while' Crissman  with  the  trainmen  crossed  to 
the  train. 

The  yardmaster  growled  at  their  being 
not  a  minute  too  early  and  threatened  to 
send  out  an  extra  the  first  time  one  of  them 
stood  a  minute  late. 

"This  train's  got  to  pull  out  at  one-thirty, 
and  not  half  a  minute  later,"  he  growled. 
He  stood  with  his  open  watch  in  his  hand, 
and  his  lantern  swung  over  his  arm.  The 
men  jeered  and  made  fun  of  him  with  ap- 
parent good  nature  and  gave  him  answer 
for  answer. 


48  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

The  instant  the  minute  hand  marked  the 
half  hour,  he  swung  out  his  lantern.  The 
long  train  moved  slowly  from  the  yard,  in 
the  gloom  of  which  it  curved  its  black  sin- 
uous length  like  a  huge  snake.  When  it  had 
cleared  the  yard  and  rounded  the  curve  of 
the  mountains  ahove  Drury's  Eun,  it  in- 
creased its  speed  until  it  was  going  at  the 
rate  of  forty  miles  an  hour. 

"  Where  do  you  stop  for  orders  ?"  asked 
the  end  brakeman  coming  up  to  Crissman. 

"At  the  O.  K.  tower  this  side  of  Sterl- 
ing." 

"Kunning  close.  I  thought  we'd  go  clear 
through.  I  was  wishing  we  would.  We'd 
not  have  to  lay  over  but  a  few  hours  if  we'd 
not  take  siding  here." 

"We're  to  take  siding  only  for  the  flyer. 
If  it's  on  time,  we'll  barely  make  it." 

"That's  all  right  about  getting  there  on 
close  time;  but  what  about  leaving?" 

"Can't  tell  until  we  get  orders.  I  think 
though  that  we'll  pull  out  at  once." 

"I  don't  like  this  running  so  close.    If 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  49 

we'd  run  late  we'd  risk  our  necks  to  get  out 
of  the  way  of  Number  Ten." 

"Something's  wrong  with  your  liver, 
Nelson,"  he  said.  "One  minute  you're  all 
for  getting  home  quick  and  the  next  minute 
you're  afraid  we're  running  too  close." 

The  train  had  given  the  signal  for  the 
Sterling  crossing  and  Crissman  moved  away 
to  attend  to  his  work.  A  moment  later  he 
swung  himself  from  the  train  and  went  into 
the  tower  for  orders.  He  was  back  in  a 
moment. 

"You'll  be  a  happy  lad,  Nelson,"  he  said 
jocularly.  "Number  Ten  is  running  an 
hour  later.  We're  to  lay  here  until  she's 
heard  from." 

"Where  is  she?" 

"Search  me.  She  left  Olean  on  time  but 
she  hasn't  reached  Ridgway.  We  may  be 
tied  here  for  the  rest  of  the  morning." 

"Then  I'm  going  to  sleep,"  was  Nelson's 
reply  as  he  went  back  to  the  caboose. 

It  was  now  broad  daylight.  The  train- 
men, with  the  exception  of  Nelson,  sat  at 


50  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

the  foot  of  the  O.  K.  steps  cind  smoked  and 
retold  stories  of  what  they  had  seen  and 
heard  on  the  road. 

The  track  ran  close  to  the  bank  of  the 
river.  At  right  angles  to  it  and  crossing  on 
a  viaduct  ran  the  H.  R.  &  P.  Road.  The 
mountains  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river 
were  steep  and  almost  barren  of  vegetation, 
with  only  here  and  there  clumps  of  firs 
showing  among  the  rocks.  Fifty  feet  above 
the  water  line  was  a  quarry  of  flagstone 
and  around  the  curve  of  the  mountain, 
under  the  protection  of  an  overhanging  cliff, 
were  the  shanties  of  the  foreign  laborers. 
Smoke  was  already  curling  from  the  chim- 
neys and  the  faint  blue  line  was  visible  to 
the  trainmen  across  the  river. 

"What  time  have  you?"  asked  Page  when 
the  stories  of  the  road  had  all  been  told,  and 
the  pipes  had  been  smoked  out. 

"Seven  fifteen  and  she's  right  to  the  dot," 
replied  Crissman.  Getting  up  and  moving 
away  from  the  men,  he  walked  to  the  end  of 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  51 

the  train.  He  stopped  suddenly  before  a  re- 
turn empty.  Going  close  to  the  door,  he 
peered  within  and  then  cried,  "Hello,  butty, 
what's  wrong  with  you?" 

"I'll  vamoose,"  was  the  reply.  "You 
don't  need  to  jerk  me  up.  But  if  you  have 
time,  let  me  talk  to  you  a  minute."  The 
speaker  moved  close  to  Crissman  and  swing- 
ing himself  out,  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the 
open  box-car.  He  was  a  young  man  not 
more  than  twenty-five  years  old  if  he  was 
that.  He  had  a  fine  face  with  an  intellec- 
tual brow  and  intelligent  eyes ;  well-dressed 
but  dusty  and  travel-stained.  His  lips 
twitched  nervously  and  he  glanced  fearfully 
about  him  as  though  he  feared  to  be  seen. 

"What  sort  of  men  have  you  with  you?" 
he  asked. 

"First  rate.  How  long  have  you  been 
on?" 

"Since  the  train  was  made  up." 
"Where  did  you  come  from?" 
"No  matter,"  was  the  reply.    "I'm  leav- 


52  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

ing  it.  That's  all.  But  I've  come  a  good 
way.  Whereabouts  can  I  strike  a  western 
train?" 

"Freight?" 

"Not  necessarily.  I  can  pay  my  way.  I 
bummed  my  way  so  far  because  I  didn't 
want  a  passenger  train.  What's  that  road 
over  there?"  pointing  to  the  track  across 
the  viaduct. 

"That  will  take  you  into  DuBois.  You 
can  get  pretty  fair  trains  from  there." 

"How  soon  will  a  train  come  along  and 
how  far  must  I  go  to  get  it?" 

"An  accommodation  crosses  the  viaduct 
somewhere  about  eight  o'clock.  The  near- 
est station  is  three  miles  on  the  other  side 
of  the  river,  but  they  take  water  on  this 
side.  You  could  get  on  there  if  you're  anx- 
ious to  pull  out." 

"I  am.  The  quicker  I'm  away  the  better 
pleased  I'll  be.  Say,  look  here.  I'm  going 
to  tell  you  something  and  I  want  you  to  do 
something  for  me.  Will  you  promise?" 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  53 

"That  depends.  I  might  be  promising 
to  run  beyond  the  red  lights.  Fire  away." 

The  young  man  moved  closer  and  spoke 
long  and  earnestly  to  Crissman.  He  be- 
came quite  excited  and  his  breath  came  in 
short  gasps.  Crissman  stood  with  his 
shoulders  braced  against  the  edge  of  the  car 
and  listened  without  comment  until  the 
stranger  had  finished. 

"Of  course,  I  don't  know  anything  about 
it,"  he  said  at  last.  "I've  got  only  your 
word  for  it  and  I  don't  know  what  that's 
worth.  But,  either  way,  I  can't  see  that 
any  harm  can  come  of  it.  It  won't  mean 
anything  to  me  one  way  or  the  other." 

The  face  of  the  stranger  brightened. 
Taking  a  memorandum  book  and  pencil  he 
wrote  hastily  and  nervously.  Then  tearing 
the  slip  of  paper  from  the  book  he  handed 
it  to  him. 

"Tell  him  to  write  to  me  there  in  my  own 
name.  He's  to  write  if  he  don't  want  to 
lose  track  of  me  and  if  everything's  all 


54  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

right.  I'm  trusting  you.  I  don't  know 
why,  but  you  look  like  a  man  that  would 
help  a  fellow  out  of  a  bad  place." 

"What  do  you  mean  to  do  now?" 

"To  go  to  that  place  as  quick  as  I  can. 
I'll  be  beyond  reach  there.  But  one  thing 
I'll  do,  I've  a  way  to  earn  a  good  living. 
I'm  not  helpless.  I'll  start  in  and  I'll  see 
that  I  don't  make  the  same  mistake  twice." 

There  was  nothing  of  the  preacher  about 
Jim  Crissman.  Here  was  an  excellent  op- 
portunity for  a  homily  on  the  conduct  of 
life ;  but  he  did  not  seize  it.  He  was  think- 
ing of  the  boyish  stranger  who  had  thrown 
himself  upon  his  mercy. 

"You  mean  to  take  that  train  when  she 
stops  at  the  crossing?" 

"Yes;  if  lean." 

"Better  get  yourself  together  then. 
Come  down  to  the  caboose  and  wash  up. 
You  don't  want  to  look  as  though  you  were 
on  your  uppers." 

"But  the  other  men?"  he  glanced  appre- 
hensively toward  the  tower. 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  65 

"Don't  give  them  a  thought.  They 
won't  flag  us.  Come  on!  You  haven't 
much  time  to  spare."  He  started  down  the 
track.  After  a  moment's  hesitancy,  the 
stranger  swung  himself  out  of  the  car  and 
followed.  By  the  time  he  reached  the  ca- 
boose, Crissman  was  there  with  a  basin  of 
water  and  a  towel  for  him. 

Nelson  unrolled  himself  from  his  quilt, 
looked  up  to  see  who  had  come  in  and  see- 
ing that  Crissman  was  in  some  way  re- 
sponsible for  the  stranger's  appearance, 
said  affably,  "  Hello,  butty,  taking  off  the 
first  coat?" 

Crissman  had  opened  the  bucket  and  was 
laying  out  his  lunch  when  the  stranger 
finished  washing  and  putting  himself  in 
order. 

"Here's  something  to  fill  up  on.  It  will 
be  a  long  time  before  you'll  have  a  chance 
to  get  anything.  Oh,  that 's  all  right. ' '  The 
stranger  had  again  hesitated.  "I've  got 
plenty.  The  missus  put  in  an  extra  helping 
of  meat.  She  fixed  up  veal  in  some  sort  of 


56  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

fixings  and  she  put  some  in  for  the  men  a 
taste.  She  always  does  that." 

While  he  was  speaking,  he  had  made  two 
large  sandwiches  of  the  bread  and  ham  and 
thrust  them  into  the  young  man's  hands. 
"Eat  them  and  then  I'd  cut  down  to  the 
viaduct.  That  train  will  whistle  for  the 
bridge  in  about  three  minutes." 

"That  tastes  good,"  said  the  stranger. 
"It's  been  a  full  day  since  IVe  had  a  bite 
to  eat." 

As  he  was  about  to  leave  the  caboose,  he 
seized  Crissman's  hand.  "I  can't — I  don't 
have  words  to  thank  you.  But  you've  been 
my  guardian  angel  to-day.  Good-bye.  I'll 
never  forget  you,  and  you'll  send  word — say 
in  the  course  of  a  month."  He  looked  up 
into  Crissman's  face  while  he  wrung  his 
hands. 

"I'll  see  to  that.  Good-bye  and  take 
good  care  of  yourself!"  The  young  man 
hurried  from  the  train,  went  down  the  track 
like  one  who  was  hurried  on  by  fear. 


At  his  first  word  the  girls  had  clutched  each  other 
tightly.  (See  page  174.) 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  57 

Crissman  walked  back  to  the  0.  K.  tower. 

1  'Number  Ten  about  due,"  said  the 
operator.  ' '  Your  orders  are  awaiting  you. ' ' 

Crissman  took  the  slip  of  paper  and  read 
it  carefully.  He  folded  it  and  slipped  it 
between  the  fasteners  of  his  overalls.  The 
other  piece  of  paper — the  smaller  piece 
which  the  stranger  had  given  him — he 
crumpled  up  in  the  palm  of  his  hand.  He 
had  not  read  it,  being  more  interested  in 
seeing  the  stranger  cared  for  than  in  the 
address.  Now  he  smoothed  it  out. 

"Telluride,  Mexico,"  he  said,  reading  it 
aloud.  "I'll  remember  that.  If  the  paper 
should  get  lost  I'll  not  be  to  the  bad.  The 
other  is  easy  enough  to  remember.  '  Sur- 
geon in  charge  at  the  Dixmont  Hospital.' 
That  is  nothing  to  keep  in  a  fellow's  mind." 

Number  Ten  had  whistled.  He  saw  her 
rounding  the  curve  of  the  river  several 
miles  away.  She  was  tearing  along  at  a 
great  rate,  fairly  annihilating  space  in  her 
effort  to  make  up  lost  time.  She  whizzed 


58  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

past  Sixty-five  on  the  siding  and  in  a  mo- 
ment had  rounded  the  bend  of  the  river  and 
was  gone. 

Crissman  stood  with  his  watch  in  hand 
and  the  crumpled  piece  of  paper  beneath  it. 
It  lacked  two  minutes  of  the  time  that  he 
had  orders  for  leaving.  As  he  waited,  the 
train  running  at  right  angles  with  his  own 
crossed  the  viaduct.  Someone  leaned  from 
the  day  coach  to  wave. 

"He's  made  it  then,"  said  Crissman  to 
himself.  "I'm  mighty  glad.  Somehow  I 
sort  of  took  a  fancy  to  him.  He  was  so 
worked  up  and  excited  about  the  affair  that 
anyone  could  see  that  he  wasn't  used  to 
doing  things  just  that  way." 

The  minute  hand  almost  touched  the  time 
for  leaving.  Crissman  raised  his  hand  to 
signal  the  engineer,  but  that  signal  was 
never  given.  A  terrific  blast  from  the  quar- 
ries fairly  shook  the  mountains.  A  volley 
of  broken  rock  pierced  the  air,  and  Crissman 
fell  forward  across  the  track. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  AWAKENING 

Alice  had  dressed  for  the  afternoon  in  the 
new  white  frock  that  Jim  had  admired. 
She  had  a  notion  that  he  might  make  the 
run  quicker  than  he  had  expected  and  she 
wished  to  be  ready  for  his  coming.  She 
liked  to  have  the  house  in  order,  the  chil- 
dren and  herself  looking  well  when  he  came 
in.  She  was  happy  to  get  up  early  and 
work  until  late  if  everything  was  ready  for 
Jim's  home  coming. 

While  the  children  were  taking  a  late 
afternoon  nap,  she  took  her  fancy  work  and 
went  out  to  the  front  porch.  She  had  taken 
but  a  few  stitches  when  Dr.  Heiner,  the 
little  Dutch  doctor,  came  up  the  square. 
His  medicine  case  was  tucked  up  under  his 
arm;  his  shoulders  were  hunched  forward; 

59 


60  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

his  nearsighted  eyes  were  peering  into  space 
as  he  hurried  on  his  way.  To  Alice's  sur- 
prise he  turned  in  at  their  gate. 

"Is  Jim  hornet"  he  asked. 

"No,  he  went  out  early  this  morning. 
He's  been  promoted.  This  was  his  first 
time  out  as  conductor. "  She  tried  to  speak 
in  an  unconcerned,  off-hand  way  as  though 
she  and  Jim  were  above  such  things  as  pro- 
motions, but  her  voice  thrilled  with  pride 
and  pleasure  in  spite  of  her  efforts. 

" Won't  you  come  up  and  sit  down,  Doc- 
tor? It's  dreadfully  warm."  She  moved 
from  her  chair  to  a  smaller  one. 

"No ;  I  just  came  in  on  an  errand.  When 
do  you  expect  Jim  in?" 

"He  said  not  until  to-morrow  morning. 
I  suppose  some  time  about  one  o'clock." 

This  was  one  of  the  hardest  places  in 
Doctor  Heiner's  life. 

"Would  you  be  surprised  to  know  that  he 
came  earlier?" 

For  one  instant  there  was  an  ominous 
silence.  The  piece  of  linen  in  her  hand 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  61 

was  grasped  so  tightly  that  it  almost  sep- 
arated. For  one  moment  she  sat  thus  and 
then  she  said  quietly:  "Where  have  you 
taken  him?" 

"To  the  emergency  hospital.  He  isn't  so 
bad,  Alice." 

"A  wreck?" 

"No,  a  blast  from  the  quarry.  We  don't 
know  much.  His  train  went  through  with- 
out him,  and  none  of  his  crew  could  come 
back  to  tell  us  the  particulars.  They 
brought  him  back  on  Sixty-two.  It  passed 
the  O.  K.  tower  a  few  minutes  after  the 
blast  went  off." 

"Is  he — "  she  could  not  finish.  The 
words  mangled  and  dead  could  not  pass  her 
lips. 

"Nothing  half  so  bad,"  he  cried  heartily. 
"Why,  Alice,  I  wouldn't  have  the  heart  to 
come  and  tell  you  anything  so  dreadful.  He 
isn't  hurt  outwardly.  There  isn't  a  cut  or 
bruise  anywhere  about  him.  His  heart  is 
acting  well  and  his  pulse  is  almost  normal; 
but  he's  unconscious  in  spite  of  that." 


62  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

"He's  been  struck?"  she  asked  eagerly. 

"Exactly,  although  there's  no  mark  on  his 
head.  But  undoubtedly  that  is  what  has 
happened.  It  may  be  several  hours  or  a 
day  perhaps  until  he  comes  to  himself,  and 
then  there  may  be  a  little  fever;  but  noth- 
ing more." 

' '  Shall  I  go  with  you  ?  Is  there  anything 
you  wish  me  to  do ?  I'd  rather  wait  on  him 
than  have  anyone  else.  Does  it  mean  an 
operation?" 

"No,  indeed.  I  don't  believe  I  will  let 
you  go  down  to  the  emergency  room.  The 
men  will  bring  him  home  at  once  if  you  are 
ready.  It  is  noisy  there  and  he  must  have 
absolute  quiet." 

"Everything  is  ready.  [Will  you  bring 
him  soon?" 

Dr.  Heiner  was  amazed  at  her  manner  of 
hearing  the  news.  She  had  depended  in 
every  way  upon  the  great  strong  husband 
of  hers,  that  he  had  expected  her  to  fall  the 
instant  the  support  was  gone. 

"They'll  bring  him  at  once.    I  stopped  to 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  63 

tell  my  wife.  She'll  be  along  in  a  moment. 
There  she  comes  now,  so  you  will  not  be 
alone." 

He  turned  to  open  the  gate  for  his  wife. 
Alice  spoke  again.  "The  babies  are  asleep, 
doctor.  Will  you  bring  Jim  home  before 
they  awake?  They  might  not  understand 
about  the  stretcher  and  Thomas  is  such  a 
nervous  child." 

"All  right,  all  right,"  was  the  reply.  He 
was  relieved  for  he  had  dreaded  breaking 
the  news  to  Alice,  feeling  that  she  would 
take  it  hard. 

Alice  and  Mrs.  Heiner  went  into  the  house 
and  made  the  bed  ready  for  Jim.  Every- 
thing was  in  readiness  when  the  men 
brought  him  home  and  carried  him  upstairs 
into  the  front  bedroom. 

Thomas  was  awakened  by  the  sound  of  the 
strange  steps  and  ran  into  the  upstairs  hall- 
way. 

"Is  papa  home?"  he  cried  and  darted 
down  the  hall  toward  his  father's  room,  but 
Alice  stopped  him. 


64  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

"Your  father's  sleeping,  Thomas.  You 
must  not  disturb  him  now." 

"But  I  want  my  new  bank  he  promised 
me.  He  took  my  red  box." 

"Yes,  yes,  dear.  He  put  it  away  for  a 
while.  Mother  will  get  it  for  you  some 
day." 

Until  that  moment  she  had  forgotten 
about  the  money.  She  had  a  sense  of  relief 
that  he  had  put  it  safely  away,  for  if  he 
should  be  ill  she  would  be  free  of  the  respon- 
sibility about  it. 

When  the  doctor  and  the  men  had  gone, 
she  sat  by  Jim's  side,  smoothing  his  fore- 
head or  laying  her  hand  upon  his  strong 
wrists.  His  eyes  were  closed  and  he  lay  like 
one  in  a  heavy  stupor.  When  she  spoke  to 
him  and  called  him  by  name,  he  stirred  un- 
easily as  though  her  voice  had  power  to  break 
into  his  unconscious  state  and  yet  was  not 
sufficient  to  arouse  him. 

She  sat  beside  him  until  evening  when 
Doctor  Heiner  came  in,  bringing  with  him  a 
middle-aged  woman  who  nursed. 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  65 

"The  Brotherhood  of  Trainmen  came  for 
me  and  told  me  to  make  myself  useful." 
She  laid  aside  her  hat  and  unrolling  a  pack- 
age which  she  had  brought  with  her,  took  out 
a  blue  and  white  checked  gingham  apron  and 
put  it  on.  "What  do  you  want  me  to  do — 
sit  with  him  or  get  supper?" 

"Get  the  children  something  to  eat.  I 
couldn't  swallow  a  bite.  You'll  find  things 
in  the  refrigerator  or  in  the  pantry  off.  the 
kitchen.  Look  around  and  use  whatever 
you  find.  I  '11  stay  with  Jim. ' ' 

Mrs.  Geiger  went  down  to  the  kitchen  with 
the  baby  on  one  arm  and  Thomas  following 
after  her.  She  was  talking  to  them  cheerily 
and  promising  them  all  manner  of  dainties 
if  they  would  stay  in  the  kitchen  to  help 
her. 

Alice  went  back  to  Jim,  to  find  Doctor 
Heiner  was  bending  over  him.  She  did  not 
speak  to  the  doctor  but  her  eyes  looked  ques- 
tioningly  into  his. 

"He  has  a  little  fever,"  was  the  reply  to 
her  look.  "But  that's  to  be  expected.  If 


5 


66  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

he  should  be  delirious  in  the  night  send  Mrs. 
Geiger  for  me.  I'll  be  around  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  I'll  bring  young  Haywood  with  me. 
He's  interested  and  I'd  like  to  have  another 
physician's  opinion." 

Mrs.  Geiger  prepared  the  children's  sup- 
per, made  them  ready  for  bed  and  sang  them 
to  sleep.  Then  she  carried  a  cup  of  coffee 
and  a  sandwich  to  Alice. 

"I  can't  eat,"  said  Alice,  pushing  it  aside. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  can.  You've  got  to.  He 
may  be  sick  a  week  and  if  you  don't  eat  you'll 
not  be  able  to  wait  on  him." 

That  settled  the  matter.  Not  able  to  wait 
on  Jim  when  he  needed  it !  She  turned  and 
taking  the  cup  of  coffee  in  one  hand  and  the 
sandwich  in  the  other  with  a  heroic  effort 
disposed  of  them. 

The  fever  rose  slowly  during  the  night. 
The  lodge  to  which  Jim  belonged  sent  a  man 
to  sit  with  him  but  Alice  would  not  leave  his 
side.  Her  hand  rested  upon  his.  If  he 
stirred  or  moved  she  whispered,  "Jim!"  and 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  67 

her  voice  reached  through  the  darkness  and 
quieted  him. 

As  she  soothed  and  petted  him  as  she 
would  have  done  with  Laura  or  Thomas  had 
they  been  ill,  his  fingers,  which  had  been  con- 
tracted tightly,  relaxed  in  her  hand,  and  the 
piece  of  paper  now  pressed  into  a  wad  fell 
from  his  grasp.  She  smoothed  it  out  on  the 
bed  spread  and  read  it.  TELLURIDE,  MEXICO. 
That  was  all.  It  meant  nothing  at  all  to 
her,  but  it  might  to  Jim.  So  she  put  it 
safely  away  in  the  little  trinket-case  on  her 
dresser.  It  might  mean  something  or  noth- 
ing, but  it  belonged  to  her  husband  and  she 
treasured  it  as  she  did  everything  which 
touched  him. 

Then  she  went  back  to  his  side  and 
watched  over  him  all  the  night  long,  sooth- 
ing and  caressing  him  as  a  mother  might  a 
little  child. 

When  morning  came,  the  nurse  and  Doc- 
tor Heiner  compelled  her  to  leave  the  sick- 
room and  lie  down.  They  encouraged  her 


68  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

to  believe  that  it  was  but  a  few  hours  until 
Jim  would  be  himself  again  and  it  would  fret 
him  to  see  her  heavy-eyed  and  worn.  When 
she  came  back  to  the  bedside  the  face  of  the 
patient  was  crimson  with  fever,  his  pulse 
was  beating  fast,  and  he  was  talking  and 
moaning.  Through  the  mutterings  ran  a 
thread  of  reason.  He  had  promised  to  do. 
something.  What  was  it  f  When  was  he  to 
do  it  $  Whom  did  he  promise  ?  Something 
was  pressing  his  head  and  kept  him  down 
or  he  would  write  at  once.  Dixmont  Hos- 
pital. He  could  remember  so  much.  He 
would  not  forget  that.  Then  he  asked  for 
orders  and  inquired  when  Number  Ten  was 
due  and  he  gave  the  time  his  train  had  been 
ordered  out  and  even  raised  himself  in  bed, 
and  gave  the  proper  signal  to  the  engineer 
— the  signal  he  would  have  given  the  morn- 
ing before  had  a  second  more  of  time  been 
granted  him. 

The  days  now  repeated  themselves  except 
that  each  succeeding  one  brought  a  great  de- 
gree of  fever  and  more  intense  suffering  for 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  69 

the  patient.  The  pain  became  so  great  that 
the  watchers  held  him  in  bed  lest  he  might 
harm  himself.  A  neighbor  took  Thomas 
and  Laura  home  with  her  and  Alice  gave 
every  minute  of  the  day  and  night  to  him. 
She  seemed  incapable  of  a  thought  for  her- 
self or  her  children.  She  knew  neither  fa- 
tigue nor  hunger,  but  sat  day  after  day  by 
the  bed,  allowing  no  one  except  herself  to 
touch  him.  The  doctor's  orders  and  plead- 
ings were  wasted.  She  looked  at  him  in 
open-eyed  wonder  when  he  suggested  that 
she  rest. 

"And  leave  Jim1?"  she  asked  as  though 
such  a  thought  could  not  be  considered. 

There  were  nine  days  of  fever  and  de- 
lirium and  then  the  change  came.  The  pa- 
tient lay  white  and  quiet,  but  without  ap- 
parent suffering,  taking  what  food  was  of- 
fered to  him.  His  eyes  followed  his  wife's 
movements  about  the  room  and  a  satisfied 
look  came  over  his  face  when  she  sat  by  his 
bedside  with  her  hand  in  his.  He  made  no 
effort  to  talk,  and  for  the  first  few  days 


70  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

after  the  fever  left  him,  she  was  content  to 
let  him  lie  quiet.  Then  she  talked  to  him, 
asking  him  how  he  had  rested  and  if  he  had 
any  pain.  He  made  no  answer ;  but  turned 
and  looked  at  her  oddly  and  smiled.  The 
smile  was  like  that  of  a  child  who  in  its 
sleep  is  visited  with  beautiful  dreams.  As 
the  days  passed,  she  told  him  of  matters 
about  the  house;  who  had  brought  him  the 
flowers  and  who  had  come  to  ask  about  him. 
She  dwelt  at  length  on  the  good  behavior  of 
Thomas  and  Laura;  how  they  had  let  a 
neighbor  take  care  of  them  and  had  not  cried 
for  their  mother,  but  had  tried  to  be  good 
because  father  was  ill.  And  she  ended  the 
story  with  the  promise  that  on  the  morrow 
the  children  were  to  be  allowed  to  come  in 
for  a  few  minutes.  He  made  no  attempt 
to  answer  her  but  smiled  as  before  and  held 
her  hand  close  in  his  own. 

The  patient  was  sleeping  so  well  at  night 
that  the  doctor  advised  Alice  to  go  to  bed 
and  rest.  The  nurse's  cot  was  yet  in  the 
hall.  She  drew  it  close  to  the  bedroom  door, 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  71 

that  she  might  hear  the  faintest  movement 
on  the  part  of  the  patient.  Then  for  the 
first  time  since  the  accident  she  lay  down 
and  slept. 

It  was  early  morning  when  she  was  awak- 
ened by  a  movement  in  the  bedroom.  In 
an  instant  she  was  wide  awake  and  within 
the  room.  The  sick  man  was  up  and 
dressed,  and,  standing  before  the  mirror  was 
giving  the  last  few  touches  to  his  dressing, 
in  just  the  same  way  she  had  seen  him  do 
hundreds  of  times  before.  He  was  wearing 
his  watch  which  he  had  wound.  The  hands 
had  stopped  the  instant  he  had  fallen,  al- 
most a  month  before.  The  mainspring  was 
broken  but  he  did  not  realize  that  anything 
was  wrong  with  it.  The  hands  never  moved 
away  from  that  fatal  eight-fifteen  which 
marked  the  time  of  his  hurt. 

"Why,  Jim,  you  don't  mean  to  get  up?" 

"Yes." 

"But  you  are  not  strong  enough!  You 
must  remember  that  you're  weak  yet.  You 
had  better  stay  in  bed  until  the  doctor  comes. 


72  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

You've  been  too  sick  to  get  up  this  way." 
"I'm  not  sick."  She  fancied  he  looked 
at  her  oddly.  She  was  almost  decided  to 
send  at  once  for  Doctor  Heiner,  but  with 
second  thought  she  gave  that  up.  Men  were 
different  from  women  and  perhaps  they  be- 
came well  all  at  once  without  a  long  period 
of  convalescence. 

Jim  walked  out  into  the  hall  and  down 
stairs.  The  street  was  quiet,  the  hour  being 
too  early  for  pedestrians.  He  passed  out 
to  the  porch  and,  drawing  forward  a  large 
rocker,  seated  himself,  and  tilting  it  back- 
ward balanced  it  and  himself  with  his  feet 
on  the  railing  of  the  porch.  This  was  his 
favorite  loafing  position.  A  thrill  of  joy 
went  through  Alice  as  she  saw  him  sitting 
there.  It  was  almost  as  though  he  had  come 
back  from  the  dead. 

It  came  to  her  then  how  long  the  past  four 
weeks  had  been  and  how  she  had  suffered. 
"I  could  never  live  through  it  again,"  she 
said  to  herself.  She  was  thin  and  haggard 
from  worry  and  loss  of  sleep,  but  her  joy 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  73 

at  his  recovery  illuminated  her  face,  making 
it  most  beautiful. 

She  followed  him  to  the  porch  where  she 
stood  for  a  moment  feasting  her  eyes  upon 
him.  "I'm  not  going  to  sit  down  now,  Jim. 
You  must  have  something  to  eat.  It  is  very 
early  but  I'll  get  breakfast.  I  don't  wish 
my  foolish  boy  to  be  ill  again.  Don't  sit  up 
until  you're  tired.  That  will  do  you  harm. 
You  had  better  come  in  in  a  few  moments 
and  lie  down  on  the  davenport." 

"Yes,"  he  said. 

She  went  back  into  the  kitchen  and  turned 
on  the  drafts  of  the  stove  and  began  prep- 
arations for  breakfast.  Never  before  had 
the  world  seemed  so  beautiful  to  her.  Jim 
was  really  well  again.  Nothing  else  mat- 
tered since  he  was  left  to  her.  She  had  been 
worried  about  money  matters.  Her  cheeks 
flushed  with  shame  at  the  thought.  Money, 
luxuries,  the  home  were  not  matters  to  cause 
concern.  She  would  never  allow  them  to 
cause  her  a  moment's  worry  again. 

She  brought  out  her  best  table  cloth  and 


74  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

took  down  the  finest  pieces  of  china  in  honor 
of  Jim's  recovery.  She  laid  the  table  so 
that  it  looked  like  a  picture  and  as  she  moved 
about,  her  heart  was  singing  a  little  song  of 
joy  and  thanksgiving. 

"There!  that  does  look  nice,'*  she  ex- 
claimed when  all  was  finished.  "I'm  glad 
I  saved  last  night's  cream,  though  I  didn't 
think  Jim  would  use  it."  She  tripped 
through  the  hall  to  the  porch.  1 1  Breakfast 's 
ready,  Jimmy!  You'd  better  lean  on  me. 
You  don't  know  how  weak  you  are." 

Then  she  stopped.  Jim  was  standing  by 
one  of  the  pillars.  His  watch  was  open  in 
his  hand  and  his  eyes  had  a  peculiar  far  off 
expression.  "There's  Number  Ten  now," 
he  said.  "She's  done  well  to  make  the  run 
if  she  was  an  hour  late  at  Eidgway.  We've 
orders  for  eight-fifteen.  We'll  pull  out  in 
a  minute." 

He  raised  his  hand,  gave  a  conductor's 
signal  for  starting  and  then  turned  and 
looked  straight  into  his  wife's  eyes,  bewil- 
dered and  confused  as  though  his  mind  was 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  75 

crying  out  to  her  for  help.  She  partly 
understood,  but  not  all.  She  slipped  her 
hand  under  his  arm  to  steady  him.  "Come 
to  breakfast,  Jim.  I  have  lovely  fresh  eggs 
for  you.  Mrs.  Miller  sent  them  in  yester- 
day. Doctor  Heiner  said  you  might  have 
eggs. ' '  While  her  lips  were  busy  encourag- 
ing him,  her  heart  comforted  herself  with 
the  thought:  "He's  had  such  a  shock,  it 
may  take  him  several  days  to  realize  what 
has  happened.  I  shall  not  mention  that  he 
has  been  hurt  or  has  been  ill  until  the  doc- 
tor comes." 

Putting  aside  her  own  fears  and  weari- 
ness, she  served  his  meal  and  talked  lightly 
of  the  little  matters  of  the  home  and  chil- 
dren. "I  shall  bring  it  back  by  degrees," 
she  encouraged  herself.  "  I  '11  talk  as  though 
nothing  had  happened  and  after  a  while  the 
past  will  be  clear  to  him." 

"Thomas  has  never  missed  a  day  asking 
about  his  red  box  or  his  new  safe.  You 
remember  you  promised  him  a  new  safe  the 
next  time  you  came  in." 


76  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

"A  new  safe?"  he  smiled  placidly  as 
though  the  subject  pleased  him. 

"Yes,  Jim,  don't  you  remember?  You 
took  his  red  tin  box  in  which  to  put  the 
money.  You  hid  the  money  somewhere. 
Don't  you  remember  about  it?" 

"No;  I  don't  know  anything  about  a  red 
box  or  the  money.  I  don't  know  anything 
about  it.  Was  I  to  know?" 

He  looked  so  distressed  that  Alice's  heart 
smote  her.  "No ;  you  were  not  to  remember 
particularly,"  she  said. 

But  her  words  did  not  comfort  him.  His 
glance  wandered  from  her  to  articles  about 
the  room  as  though  he  would  find  there  what 
he  sought  and  then  back  to  her  again.  His 
eyes  were  like  those  of  a  wounded  animal 
who  begged  mutely  and  without  avail  for 
help. 

"Let  me  break  this  egg  for  you,  Jim. 
Isn't  that  lovely?  You  must  eat  every  bit 
of  it  so  that  you  will  get  strong." 

So  with  gentle  persuadings,  he  finished  his 
breakfast  and  then  she  went  with  him  to  the 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  77 

porch  where  they  sat  hand  in  hand  and 
waited  for  Doctor  Heiner's  early  call.  She 
decided  that  she  would  say  nothing  at  all  to 
the  physician,  but  let  him  find  his  patient 
as  he  was. 

It  was  past  eight  o'clock  when  he  came 
down  the  street,  his  shoulders  hunched  for- 
ward and  his  nearsighted  eyes  blinking  in 
the  rays  of  an  August  sun.  He  did  not  rec- 
ognize the  occupants  of  the  porch  until  he 
had  turned  in  at  the  gate. 

"Well,  well,  what  is  this?"  he  cried,  half 
angrily.  "My,  but  this  is  rash!  Why  did 
you  let  him  do  it,  Alice  ?"  She  made  no  an- 
swer but  waited.  He  turned  to  Jim.  "I 
suppose  you  feel  all  right,  but  I've  a  notion 
to  lay  you  across  my  knee  for  getting  up 
without  my  knowing.  How's  the  pulse?" 
His  finger  was  already  upon  Jim's  wrist. 
He  drew  out  his  watch.  In  an  instant  the 
patient's  watch — the  watch  with  the  broken 
mainspring  and  its  hands  marking  the  time 
at  eight-fifteen — was  in  his  hands. 

"I've  orders  to  pull  out  at  eight-fifteen. 


78  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

That's  Number  Ten  whistling  now.  We'll 
pull  out  in  one  minute."  He  was  on  his 
feet,  erect  and  stalwart.  He  raised  his  hand 
to  signal,  then  turned  and  looked  first  at  his 
wife  and  then  at  the  doctor — with  the  look 
of  a  wounded  animal  in  his  eyes.  But  there 
was  no  help  for  him  there.  He  sank  back 
in  his  chair. 

A  look  passed  from  wife  to  physician. 
She  understood  the  condition  without  a 
word.  To  live  with  the  mind  a  blank — to 
know  not  that  she  cared  and  waited  upon 
him!  To  be  a  giant  in  body  but  an  infant 
in  mind!  She  pressed  her  lips  tight.  She 
would  not  give  up.  She  would  hope  against 
knowledge.  Her  love  would  do  more  than 
a  doctor's  skill.  Yet  in  spite  of  her  effort, 
fear  conquered  hope.  Her  lips  trembled 
and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  With  a  cry 
of  "Jim,  Jim,"  she  was  on  her  knees  by  his 
chair,  her  face  buried  against  him,  while 
her  body  shook  with  sobs.  He  put  forth  his 
hand  and  smoothed  her  hair.  His  own  lips 
trembled ;  he  looked  up  piteously  at  the  doc- 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  79 

tor  while  his  mind  made  a  mighty  effort  to 
break  its  chain.  It  was  all  in  vain.  He 
turned  and  patted  the  bowed  head.  He 
could  not  cry  out,  "Allie,  Allie!"  He  had 
forgotten  even  her  name. 


CHAPTER  V 

A  NEED  FOR  THE  LITTLE  TIN  BOX 

Soon  other  considerations  than  that  of 
waiting  upon  her  husband  presented  them- 
selves to  Alice.  She  had  been  getting  her 
household  necessities  at  the  store  on  the  book 
as  every  other  workman's  family  in  town 
did.  She  had  given  no  thought  about  a  set- 
tlement. When  pay  day  came,  she  missed 
the  check  to  which  she  had  been  accustomed. 
There  was  no  prospect  of  wages  for  months, 
if  ever;  but  there  were  eighteen  hundred 
dollars  in  the  little  tin  box,  and  that  would 
provide  for  them  until  Jim  was  able  to  work. 
She  had  not  given  up  the  idea  that  Dr. 
Heiner  was  all  wrong  and  that  Jim's  mem- 
ory would  gradually  awaken.  She  ques- 
tioned him  about  the  hiding-place  of  the 
money.  His  reply  was  a  smile  and  a  gentle 

81 


82  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

pressure  of  her  hand.  He  seemed  unhappy 
when  she  was  absent  so  she  arranged  her 
work  to  be  with  him.  He  went  with  her 
from  parlor  to  kitchen,  from  cellar  to  bed- 
room, always  with  the  same  gentleness  of 
manner  and  sweetness  of  smile.  The  chil- 
dren had  learned  to  adjust  themselves  to  cir- 
cumstances and  played  together,  amusing 
themselves  with  their  childish  games,  and 
claiming  the  attention  of  their  mother  as 
little  as  possible. 

When  the  money  was  needed,  Alice  began 
a  diligent  search  for  the  box.  It  was  of  a 
size  large  enough  to  prevent  it  being  slipped 
into  an  extremely  small  space.  She  began 
to  search  in  the  bedroom  for  it  was  there  she 
had  heard  him  moving  about  when  he  had 
hidden  it.  She  went  through  every  drawer 
and  closet,  and  moved  each  article  of  furni- 
ture, turning  it  about  and  searching  in  every 
nook  and  corner.  So  diligent  and  thorough 
was  her  work  that  a  pin  could  not  have  es- 
caped notice ;  but  the  box  did  not  material- 
ize. So  on  she  went  through  every  room  of 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  83 

the  house  and  into  the  cellar,  although  she 
knew  he  had  not  gone  there.  Then  in  a  fit  of 
desperation,  she  took  up  the  carpet  and  ex- 
amined every  foot  of  the  floor  in  the  hope 
that  he  might  have  loosened  a  board  and 
hidden  the  box  beneath. 

When  hope  of  finding  it  by  searching  was 
given  up,  she  turned  to  him  and  said  in  her 
old  care-free  manner,  "Jim,  do  tell  me  where 
you  hid  the  box.  I'm  tired  hunting." 

The  answer  was  the  same  as  it  had  always 
been.  "I  have  no  tin  box." 

Then  with  the  most  delicate  tact,  she  tried 
again  to  bring  the  money  to  his  mind.  She 
sat  beside  him  and  repeated  the  incident  of 
that  evening,  weaving  the  facts  into  a  story 
about  a  man  named  Jim  and  Allie,  his  wife, 
and  when  she  came  to  the  climax  she  cried 
gayly :  "Now,  where  do  you  suppose  he  hid 
the  box?"  With  all  her  efforts  the  result 
was  the  same.  He  had  forgotten  even  the 
first  of  the  story. 

The  first  week  in  September,  the  mail 
brought  her  a  formal  notice  that  the  sum  of 


84  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

fifteen  hundred  dollars  was  due  on  the  house 
and  lot  and  unless  payment  was  made  the 
place  would  be  sold.  This  aroused  her. 
Again  she  beseeched  and  pleaded  with  her 
husband  to  tell  her  of  the  money.  But  noth- 
ing was  gained. 

She  remembered  the  piece  of  paper  which 
he  had  in  his  hand  the  day  of  the  accident. 
Perhaps  it  might  bring  back  some  of  the 
past.  Taking  it  from  the  little  trinket  box, 
she  placed  it  where  his  eyes  must  fall  upon 
it.  Then  she  laid  it  in  his  hand  and  said 
coaxingly,  "Look  at  this,  Jim.  Telluride, 
Mexico.  Who  is  there?  Did  you  wish  to 
write  to  someone  there?" 

"No;  I  didn't,"  he  said. 

In  her  perplexity,  she  went  to  Doctor 
Heiner.  "There  is  but  one  hope,"  he  said. 
"His  loss  of  memory  has  been  caused  by  a 
nervous  shock.  I  feel  confident  that  there 
is  no  concussion  or  compression  of  the 
brain.  If  there  were,  we  could  make  that 
right  in  a  short  time.  I  believe  his  condi- 
tion is  the  result  of  a  nervous  shock.  A 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  85 

second  shock  might  be  the  means  of  restor- 
ing him.  There  are  one  or  two  incidents  in 
medical  history  which  makes  such  theories 
acceptable." 

That  was  all  he  could  do  for  her.  Theo- 
ries would  neither  cure  her  husband  nor 
feed  her  children.  Taking  care  of  these 
three,  all  equally  helpless,  was  the  duty  that 
now  confronted  her.  She  knew  not  where 
to  go  for  help.  One  thing  she  decided,  she 
must  not  rest  on  the  hope  of  Jim's  being 
able  to  help  her.  She  had  given  that  up. 
From  this  time  on  she  must  be  the  head  of 
the  family. 

The  question  of  the  mortgage  was  to  be 
settled  at  once.  She  went  to  Mr.  McCorm- 
ick,  a  lawyer  who  had  known  her  father  and 
mother  during  childhood.  He  was  an  old 
man  now  with  hair  whitened  with  years  and 
a  character  ripened  and  mellowed  by  a  life- 
time of  sacrifice.  He  could  give  her  no  en- 
couragement. The  foreclosing  of  the  mort- 
gage was  but  the  fulfilling  of  the  law. 


86  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

"The  place  was  worth  twenty-five  hun- 
dred when  we  took  it.  Jim  has  put  over 
five  hundred  dollars  of  work  and  repairs  on 
it.  The  street  has  only  been  opened  a  short 
time  and  every  one  says  the  property  has 
doubled  in  value.  It's  worth  almost  four 
thousand  dollars  now.  Must  it  all  go  for 
fifteen  hundred  f" 

"There'll  be  a  sale.  The  property  will  go 
to  the  highest  bidder.  Ruley  will  wish  to 
buy  it  in,  of  course.  But,"  the  old  man 
paused.  He  was  old  now  and  his  body  was 
crippled  and  twisted  out  of  shape.  He  had 
thought  to  keep  far  from  the  worry  and 
strife  of  business,  for  he  had  been  at  it  early 
and  late.  All  he  longed  for  now  was  a  little 
quiet,  an  hour  for  reflection,  an  hour  of 
peace.  But  he  pushed  his  desire  away  as 
the  outcome  of  selfishness,  and  comforted 
her  by  saying,  "But  there  is  a  way  to  make 
Mr.  Ruley  pay  dear  for  his  whistle.  The 
property  may  be  bid  up  close  to  its  real 
value.  He  may  get  the  amount  of  the  mort- 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  87 

gage  but  no  more.  There  may  be  a  little 
left  to  tide  you  over  until  Jim  is  himself 
again. " 

Jim  himself  again  I  She  knew  that  they 
only  spoke  so  to  encourage  her  and  not  in 
the  belief  that  it  would  be  so.  She  herself 
knew  that  the  time  when  Jim  was  himself 
again  would  never  come.  Although  she  was 
hopeless,  she  would  not  make  it  known  to 
the  world.  So  she  smiled  bravely  and  an- 
swered with  all  the  cheerfulness  she  could 
command,  "  Yes ;  just  enough  until  he  is  him- 
self again.  But,  Mr.  McCormick,  how  shall 
I  arrange  to  have  it  bid  higher?" 

"Ill  see  to  that,  Alice.  Ill  attend  the 
sale  and  bid  with  the  others.  I'll  see  that 
you  will  have  at  least  a  few  hundred  dol- 
lars." 

She  was  so  relieved.  She  could  have  time 
then  to  look  about  her  to  see  what  she  could 
do.  She  could  not  leave  her  home  and  go 
out  to  earn,  for  the  children  and  helpless 
man  needed  her  every  moment.  But  there 
was  sewing  and  washing  and  ironing.  She 


88  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

grew  sick  at  heart  at  the  mere  thought  of 
washing.  She  had  found  it  a  tax  on  her 
strength  to  wash  even  for  her  own  small 
family  and  Jim  in  his  great  good-hearted 
way  had  made  her  give  it  up  and  had  even 
given  her  tubs  and  wringer  away  lest  she 
be  tempted  to  overtax  her  strength.  But 
now  matters  were  different.  Necessity 
would  know  neither  taste  nor  strength. 

She  arose  and  made  ready  to  leave  the 
office.  "We  can  stay  in  the  house  until  the 
sale,"  she  said.  "Then  I  suppose  we  must 
go.  I  will  not  be  able  to  live  in  this  part  of 
town.  I  must  get  a  smaller  house ;  but  I  do 
hope  I  will  have  a  yard  for  the  children's 
sake  and  for  Jim's.  Laura  and  Thomas 
have  been  used  to  it  and  Doctor  Heiner  said 
Jim  must  be  in  the  air.  I  thought  of  a 
garden.  Perhaps — " 

"I've  been  thinking  of  a  place.  It  came 
to  my  mind  while  you  were  talking.  There 's 
two  rooms  down  and  two  above.  It's  just 
rough  boards,  without  weather  claps  or 
paint.  But  there's  a  stretch  of  grass  in 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  89 

front  and  a  garden  in  the  rear.  Do  you 
know  where  the  old  mill-house  stands  near 
the  mouth  of  the  Run?" 

"Do  you  mean  up  Paddy's  Run ;  the  place 
built  for  the  men  that  worked  on  the  mill?" 

"  Yes ;  but  the  mill  has  gone  now  and  with 
it  the  need  of  the  house.  That  is  vacant, 
Allie.  There  are  balsams  and  pines  at  the 
foot  of  the  hill — the  very  place  for  growing 
children  and  a  sick  man.  The  place  belongs 
to  me.  If  you  wish  it,  you  may  make  use 
of  it." 

"And  the  rent?" 

He  dismissed  the  subject  with  a  gesture. 
"I  played  with  your  grandparents  «when  we 
were  all  little  six-year-olds;  and  I  loved 
your  mother  when  she  was  a  little  toddling, 
blue-eyed,  yellow-haired  girl.  Do  you  think 
I  could  charge  her  daughter  for  living  in 
a  place  that  I  can  make  no  use  of?" 

Tears  of  relief  came  to  her  eyes.  All  had 
been  so  dark  and  now  the  way  was  clearing 
before  her.  Her  lips  trembled.  "You're 
so  good — so  noble—  '  she  began. 


90  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,  Alice. 
When  I  was  young,  it  came  to  me  suddenly 
that  I  could  have  nothing  but  a  crippled,  dis- 
torted body.  The  knowledge  fairly  stunned 
me  at  first  but  after  a  while  I  was  recon- 
ciled for  I  determined  that  my  life  should 
make  up  for  what  my  body  missed.  It  does 
me  good  to  hear  you  say  that  I  am  good  and 
noble.  When  a  young  person  says  that  to 
an  old,  old  man,  it  makes  him  believe  that 
perhaps  the  long  seventy  years  have  not  been 
wasted." 

She  could  not  put  her  thoughts  into 
words ;  but  she  held  out  her  hand  and  he  held 
it  within  his  own. 

"This  trouble  has  been  hard  for  you  and 
Jim, ' '  he  said.  There  was  no  pathos  or  even 
sympathy  in  his  voice.  He  spoke  in  a  prac- 
tical tone  as  one  speaks  of  practical  things. 
"But  however  hard,  one  must  learn  to  bear 
it  patiently. " 

"I  have  not  complained,"  she  said. 
"Surely  I  have  borne  it  patiently!" 

There  was  a  touch  of  irritation  in  her 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  91 

voice,  as  though  she  felt  that  he  criticised 
her  in  her  thoughts. 

He  understood.  "No,  you  have  not  com- 
plained. You  have  done  well  and  yet,  Alice, 
it  seems  to  me  that  you  have  borne  it  as  one 
bears  a  great  wrong  that  has  been  done  to 
her.  There  is  a  better  way,  my  child,  a  far 
better  way." 

She  made  no  reply;  but  her  expression 
showed  her  lack  of  credence. 

"It  is  to  bear  it  as  a  trial  sent  to  you  by 
an  All-Divine  Providence  which  will  ulti- 
mately result  in  the  greater  good  to  those 
who  serve  the  Lord,  my  child.  Believe  that, 
and  bear  this  trouble  not  with  resignation 
in  your  heart  but  with  hope  and  faith." 

She  shook  her  head  in  negation  of  such 
a  philosophy.  "I  cannot  see  what  good  may 
come  of  rendering  Jim  helpless  and  driving 
us  from  the  home  we  have  worked  and  saved 
to  get." 

"Neither  can  I  see  it,  now;  yet  I  know  it 
is  so.  There  is  where  your  faith  must  serve 
you,  daughter — the  substance  of  things  not 


92  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

seen.  I  have  lived  many  more  years  than 
you,  Alice,  and  declare  now  that  those  things 
which  came  to  me  as  trials  were  blessings. 
It  was  my  own  dullness  of  perception 
that  made  them  seem  other  than  they  were." 

"I  wish  I  could  think  so.  But  I  cannot. 
Why  should  Jim,  who  never  said  an  unkind 
word  to  anyone,  who  worked  and  planned 
to  give  his  children  a  good  home  and 
opportunities  which  were  denied  him,  why 
should  he  be  stricken,  while  scores  of  other 
worthless  men  go  on  their  way  doing  harm 
to  everyone?" 

"It  is  beyond  me  to  know,  Alice,  yet  I 
know  that  in  the  end  you  and  Jim  and  the 
babies  will  be  the  gainers.  I  suppose  to  an 
ignorant  person  it  seems  a  waste  to  throw 
gold  into  a  furnace,  but  the  smelter  knows 
what  means  must  be  used  to  gain  the  de- 
sired end. 

Perhaps  you  and  Jim,  with  all  your  work 
and  sacrifice,  saw  no  further  than  yourselves 
and  your  babies.  iWho  knows  but  an  All- 
Seeing  Providence  felt  that  you  were  too 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  93 

'fine  material  to  be  lost ;  and  sent  this  warn- 
ing to  you  that  you  might  know  that  the 
works  and  plans  of  man  are  nothing,  for 
over  all  rests  the  palm  of  the  Lord?" 

Again  she  shook  her  head.  "I  wish  I 
could  think  so,  but  I  cannot.  Perhaps  the 
time  may  come — " 

4 'The  time  will  come;  it  may  be  delayed 
for  years,  yet  the  time  will  come  when  you 
will  believe  this,"  and  he  arose  to  open  the 
door  for  her. 

On  her  way  home,  she  stopped  at  Mr. 
Buley's  office  to  tell  him  that  the  mortgage 
could  not  be  met,  and  that  he  must  proceed 
as  the  law  allowed  him.  She  had  a  few  days 
of  grace  yet.  If  only  the  money  could  be 
found !  As  she  passed  a  tin  store,  she  went 
in  and  purchased  a  tin  box  in  color  and  size 
similar  to  the  missing  one.  Then  she 
changed  her  last  five-dollar  bill  to  one  dollar 
notes. 

"I'll  try  once  more.  Perhaps  this  will 
make  him  remember." 


94  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

She  renewed  her  courage  and  was  brisk 
and  smiling  when  she  entered  her  home. 

"What  do  you  think  has  happened,  Jim1?" 
she  cried.  "Lane's  bank  has  failed!  I 
went  and  drew  out  the  money.  See,  here 
it  is!"  She  displayed  the  few  paltry  dol- 
lars. "I'll  roll  them  and  put  them  in  this 
box  so  that  they  will  be  safe  from  mice  and 
damp.  Will  you  hide  them  for  me?  I'm 
afraid  to  have  so  much  money  about  me." 

She  put  the  box  into  his  unresponsive 
hands.  He  gazed  at  it  for  some  minutes, 
perplexed  and  uncertain.  His  mind  seemed 
groping  about  to  find  that  which  was  lost. 
For  an  instant  there  was  a  passing  gleam  of 
the  old  intelligence — like  a  ray  of  sunlight 
in  a  dark  room.  Then  the  shadows  came 
again,  and  he  stood  uncertain,  bewildered, 
struggling. 

Alice  stood  waiting.  What  had  occurred 
once  might  again.  The  room  was  so  still 
that  she  could  hear  her  own  heart  beat. 

Again  came  that  fleeting  bit  of  light. 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  95 

When  it  came,  Jim  turned  and  with  the  box 
in  his  hand  passed  out  into  the  kitchen. 
There  was  the  old  resolute  manner  and  bear- 
ing in  his  movements.  Without  hesitation, 
he  passed  through  the  kitchen  and  on  down 
the  walk  toward  the  woodshed.  She  fol- 
lowed far  enough  away  that  her  presence 
would  not  recall  his  thoughts  to  the  present, 
and  yet  near  enough  that  she  might  see 
where  he  placed  the  box. 

It  came  to  her  as  she  crossed  the  back 
porch  that  the  same  night  that  he  had  hidden 
the  money,  he  had  passed  through  the  kitch- 
en and  out  through  the  back  yard  just  as 
he  was  doing  now.  He  had  gone  into  the 
shed  that  evening  and  had  chopped  kindling. 
Perhaps,  after  all,  he  had  carried  the  box 
with  him. 

He  came  close  to  the  shed  door.  The  axe 
was  in  the  chopping-block  as  he  had  left  it 
weeks  before. 

Dropping  the  tin  box  among  the  chips  and 
wood,  he  seized  the  axe  and  began  to  chop 


96  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

as  though  his  life  and  safety  depended  upon 
this  work. 

Alice 's  heart  sank.    Her  last  hope  of  find- 
ing the  money  had  left  her. 


CHAPTER  VI 

INTO  THE  NEW  HOME 

A  few  days  later  the  notice  of  the  sale  was 
posted  about  town  and  on  the  side  of  the 
house.  In  due  time  the  people  gathered 
about  the  premises,  examining  the  house 
from  attic  to  cellar  and  measuring  the  width 
and  depth  of  the  lot. 

Alice  felt  that  she  could  not  witness  the 
actual  sale  nor  did  she  wish  Jim  to  meet  cu- 
rious eyes  of  strangers.  With  the  children 
and  her  helpless  husband,  she  went  to  a 
friend's  house  several  squares  distant. 
They  had  gone  early  in  the  day,  but  a  short 
time  before  the  hour  fixed  for  the  sale  she 
became  anxious  about  Mr.  McCormick's  be- 
ing present.  It  might  be  that  Mr.  Ruley 
would  have  matters  in  his  own  hands.  The 
law  required  two  bidders  to  make  the  sale 

97 


98  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

legal.  But  Ruley  could  easily  arrange  such 
a  matter  were  lie  disposed  to  do  so. 

She  slipped  away  from  her  friend's  house, 
leaving  Jim  and  the  children  there,  and  went 
back  home.  A  little  crowd  had  gathered 
about  the  front  porch  on  which  the  sheriff 
stood,  and  a  number  were  grouped  about  the 
yard,  trampling  down  the  vines  and  flowers 
and  scattering  empty  tobacco  bags  and 
cigar  stumps  over  the  grass.  The  sight  was 
enough  to  make  her  heartsick.  It  was  with 
a  feeling  of  relief  that  she  remembered  that 
the  plants,  the  bushes  and  the  lawn  were  no 
longer  hers. 

She  looked  about  hurriedly  for  the  old 
lawyer  and  at  last  saw  him  sitting  by  the 
open  window  of  the  parlor,  his  twisted  hand 
resting  upon  his  cane. 

When  she  had  started  out  she  meant  to 
return  to  her  family  at  once,  but  uncertain 
as  to  the  outcome  she  remained.  She  took 
her  place  in  a  secluded  corner  of  the  hall- 
way where  she  could  hear  the  business  trans- 
acted on  the  porch. 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  99 

The  sheriff  began  his  work  with  the  de- 
scription and  location  of  the  property  with 
all  the  whys  and  wherefores  necessary  to 
law.  Then  the  bids  began.  Someone  in  the 
crowd  began  at  a  thousand  dollars,  which 
was  closely  followed  by  a  second  bid  of 
twelve  hundred. 

Alice  peered  from  the  corner.  She  smiled 
sadly  to  herself  when  she  recognized  who  had 
made  these  bids — two  men  who  had  never 
been  able  to  provide  a  decent  month's  living 
for  their  families.  She  knew  that  neither 
of  them  had  a  dollar  nor  a  dollar's  credit. 
"They  are  working  for  Ruley,"  she  said  to 
herself.  As  though  in  answer  to  her 
thoughts,  the  voice  of  Ruley  himself  was 
heard  raising  the  bid  to  fifteen  hundred — 
the  amount  of  the  mortgage  he  held  against 
the  place. 

The  sheriff  dwelt  at  length  on  the  value 
of  the  property.  A  half  hour  passed  in  his 
auctioneering,  yet  no  bids  came.  Alice 
trembled.  Was  she  to  lose  every  penny  of 
what  they  had  paid  in?  [Why  was  Mr. 


100  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

McCormick  silent?  The  sheriff  raised  his 
hammer. 

"Two  thousand  dollars!'7  said  Mr.  Mc- 
Cormick. 

"Ill  raise  it  one  hundred,"  cried  Ruley, 
who  was  concerned  now  that  he  realized  that 
Mr.  McCormick  was  not  present  as  a  mere 
spectator. 

"Ill  make  it  twenty-three  hundred,"  said 
the  old  attorney  quietly.  Ruley  again  raised 
and  so  the  price  went  up  between  them,  by 
steps  of  a  hundred  dollars  at  first  and  at 
last  by  half  that  amount. 

"Thirty-five  hundred,"  was  Ruley 's  bid. 
At  this  Mr.  McCormick  dropped  from  the 
contest.  This  last  bidding  had  not  lasted  a 
quarter  of  an  hour.  Alice's  heart  grew 
lighter  as  the  price  rose. 

"We  can  manage  on  that,"  she  whispered 
to  herself.  It  had  not  been  the  mere  bread- 
and-butter  phase  of  living  which  had  con- 
cerned her  most.  She  was  thinking  of  help 
for  Jim. 

When  the  sheriff  at  last  brought  down  the 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  101 

hammer,  she  slipped  through  the  house  and 
went  back  to  her  husband  and  the  babies, 
homeless  but  not  despondent.  She  would 
have  a  little  money — enough  to  bring  the  best 
medical  aid  to  Jim.  He  would  recover  and 
they  would  start  in  again  at  the  bottom  of 
the  ladder  and  for  a  second  time  build  up  a 
little  home. 

The  transfer  of  the  property  was  made 
and  the  money  paid  into  her  hand.  There 
had  been  some  expense  connected  with  the 
sale  to  which  she  was  liable.  So  in  all  there 
was  less  than  two  thousand  dollars  paid  into 
her  hands. 

She  put  it  into  the  bank  and  then  went  to 
Dr.  Heiner. 

"I  have  not  been  satisfied  about  Jim,"  she 
said.  "I  have  the  money  from  the  sale  of 
the  house.  I  wish  you  to  send  for  the  finest 
specialist  you  know,  for  I  feel  that  Jim  can 
be  helped." 

"You  are  hoping  against  certainty,  Alice. 
If  there  was  hope  of  Jim's  being  helped, 
the  railroad  men  would  have  had  a  specialist 


102  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

here  long  ago.  You  will  spend  your  last 
penny  and  nothing  will  come  of  it.  Be  ad- 
vised by  me.  Keep  Jim  in  the  air,  employed 
if  you  can,  but  at  least  contented  and  happy. 
All  your  thought  and  care  can  do  no  more 
for  him  than  that." 

But  she  would  not  take  the  advice. 

"At  least  write  to  some  specialists — I 
know  neither  their  names  nor  where  to  find 
them— and  tell  them  how  Jim  is  and  what 
caused  it.  Ask  opinions  about  it.  Then  if 
they  say  nothing  can  be  done,  I'll  not  bother 
you.  Will  you  do  that  for  me?" 

"Ill  do  that.  I'll  write  not  to  one  but 
to  several  men  that  have  the  reputation  of 
understanding  the  nervous  system  and  the 
brain.  If  one  holds  out  a  hope,  Alice,  we'll 
have  them  here  to  see  Jim." 

"You'll  write  soon?  You  won't  put  it 
off?" 

"I'll  write  to-day.    I  promise  you  that." 

She  left  the  office  partly  satisfied.  Dr. 
Heiner  began  at  once  on  the  letters.  He 
repeated  the  story  of  the  accident  and  said 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  103 

the  man  was  suffering  from  loss  of  memory 
from  the  nervous  shock.  He  wrote  that 
sentence  not  as  a  supposition  on  his  part  but 
as  a  statement  which  had  been  proved.  He 
left  no  way  open  to  those  to  whom  he  wrote 
— gave  them  no  idea  that  the  loss  of  memory 
might  have  resulted  from  some  other  cause. 
His  confidence  in  his  diagnosis  put  himself 
and  the  specialists  wrong.  A  similar  an- 
swer came  from  all ;  nothing  could  be  done. 
Time  alone  might  help  the  afflicted  man ;  the 
science  of  medicine  and  surgery  was  power- 
less. 

Before  Alice  began  her  moving,  she  made 
another  search  of  the  premises.  The  little 
tin  box  was  somewhere  about ;  but  she  could 
not  find  it.  As  she  put  her  household  goods 
in  order,  she  had  the  box  always  in  mind. 
Though  box  and  trunk  and  chest  were 
emptied  and  repacked,  the  box  and  the 
money  were  not  found. 

She  walked  down  the  street  with  Jim 
while  the  men  came  to  haul  the  household 
goods.  She  feared  that  the  sight  of  this 


104  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

home-leaving  might  agitate  him,  so  they 
were  gone  all  morning,  walking  along  the 
river  road.  The  children  were  busy  gather- 
ing the  little  field  daisies  while  she  walked 
hand  in  hand  with  Jim,  answering  his  smile 
with  a  smile.  She  talked  with  him  about 
every  subject  that  came  to  her.  She  called 
his  attention  to  the  flowers  by  the  path  or 
the  birds  that  took  wing  at  their  approach. 
Whatever  her  words,  the  result  was  the 
same.  He  smiled  up  at  her  and  pressed  her 
hand  closer  in  his  own.  So  they  wandered 
about  all  morning.  At  noon  they  came  back, 
but  not  to  the  old  home.  Friends  had  put 
the  mill-house  in  order.  When  Alice  came 
in  with  Jim  and  the  children,  the  stove  was 
up,  the  table  set,  and  the  dinner  itself  ready 
to  serve. 

Alice  watched  her  husband  closely,  hoping 
that  the  sudden  change  of  environment  might 
arouse  him,  but  in  this  she  was  disappointed. 
He  sat  down  at  the  table,  seemingly  uncon- 
scious that  a  change  had  taken  place  in  his 
surroundings. 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  105 

Thomas  laughed  and  talked  about  the  new 
home.  Laura  prattled  and  asked  many 
questions  which  the  mother  found  difficult 
to  answer.  The  father  heard  their  words 
but  gave  no  heed.  Since  the  accident  he 
had  never  noticed  the  children's  presence. 
They  had  climbed  up  on  his  knee  and  wound 
their  arms  about  his  neck,  and  he  endured 
their  caresses  but  did  not  return  them. 

Alice  let  them  go  in  their  own  way,  neither 
encouraging  nor  discouraging  them.  She 
was  afraid  that  they  might  forget  the  father 
of  the  months  before,  and  would  grow  fear- 
ful of  this  man  who  sat  silent  and  irrespon- 
sive to  their  caresses. 

The  mill-house  stood  a  half  mile  up  the 
Run  at  the  foot  of  the  lofty  heights  of  the 
Alleghenies.  The  mountain  rose  like  a  great 
wall  back  of  it — green  in  the  sunlight  and 
black  and  sullen  and  foreboding  at  night. 
The  heavier  timber  had  been  cut  years  be- 
fore. The  heights  were  marked  with  a  pine 
and  hemlock  growth,  the  fragrance  from 
which  was  borne  down  the  slopes  and  into 


108  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

the  valley.  The  air  was  clear  and  bracing, 
putting  ambition  and  energy  into  the  mind 
and  frame. 

The  house  itself  consisted  of  four  great 
rooms;  two  above  and  two  below.  It  was 
not  plastered  but  lined  with  builder's  paper 
over  which  was  pasted  the  ordinary  wall 
paper.  A  roughly  made  porch  ran  the 
length  of  the  house  and  faced  the  stream. 
A  cleared  spot  which  had  been  gardened 
several  seasons,  but  now  overrun  with  weeds, 
extended  up  the  mountain  side,  and  was 
fenced  with  stumps  which  had  been  drawn 
to  make  room  for  the  mill  and  house  and 
yard. 

Alice  put  the  place  in  as  good  order  as  she 
could.  She  kept  Thomas  and  Laura  busy 
in  clearing  the  stones  from  the  place  before 
the  door.  Although  it  was  now  the  last  of 
September,  she  set  out  hardy  vines  about 
the  house  and  fence,  hoping  by  the  next 
season  their  tendrils  would  make  beautiful 
that  which  was  now  bare  and  unsightly. 

Jim  was  always  by  her  side.    Once  or 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  107 

twice  the  old  intelligence  came  like  a  re- 
flected ray  of  sunshine.  At  such  times  he 
took  the  spade  from  her  hand  and  dug  and 
planted  as  she  had  been  doing.  After  such 
experiences  Alice's  spirits  revived.  Some 
time  the  past  would  come  back. 

Her  work  was  constant  and  some  times 
heavy.  During  the  winter  she  sewed  for 
families  in  town,  and  baked  bread  and  rusks. 
She  did  whatever  work  she  could,  consider- 
ing neither  the  limitations  of  time  nor  physi- 
cal strength.  There  were  days  when  even- 
ing found  her  nerves  and  body  exhausted, 
yet  it  mattered  not  how  worn  and  tired  she 
was  or  how  irritable  her  nerves,  her  voice 
was  soft  and  gentle  as  she  talked  with  Jim ; 
and  she  returned  his  smile  and  caress  as  in 
the  old  times  when  she  had  his  love  and 
strength  to  protect  and  nothing  to  annoy  or 
weary  her. 

She  earned  a  few  dollars  a  week  with  her 
sewing  and  baking,  but  not  enough  to  pro- 
vide the  necessities  for  this  family  of  four. 
Little  by  little  a  dollar  from  the  money  which 


108  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

came  from  the  sale  of  the  house  was  spent. 
She  saved  in  every  possible  way  and  con- 
sidered well  before  she  used  a  penny.  She 
worried  every  time  she  drew  on  her  fund,  for 
she  had  always  in  mind  the  ambitions  which 
Jim  had  for  Thomas.  As  far  as  she  was 
able,  she  meant  to  do  everything  for  the 
children  which  Jim  would  have  done.  The 
money  in  the  bank  would  help  Thomas  to  a 
medical  school  if  she  could  save  it. 

The  first  winter  was  not  nearly  so  stren- 
uous as  it  might  have  been.  She  was  not 
worn  out  and  she  still  retained  her  hope  of 
everything  coming  to  pass  as  she  desired  it. 
The  children  had  been  well  provided  for  in 
the  way  of  clothes  and  needed  little.  Jim 
too  had  several  good  suits  and  overcoats. 
So  they  were  comfortable  and  well-clothed 
without  any  great  expenditure. 

When  summer  came,  she  took  some  of  her 
own  old  dresses  and  made  them  over  for 
Laura.  This  left  her  narrowed  down  but  to 
two  or  three  dresses,  one  of  which  was  the 
white  linen  she  had  worn  the  last  evening 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  109 

Jim  had  been  himself.  This  dress  she  could 
not  bring  herself  to  wear  again  although  she 
needed  it  badly.  She  kept  it  well-bleached 
and  ironed.  Although  she  was  hardly  con- 
scious of  her  reason  for  clinging  to  it,  yet 
the  thought  was  with  her  that  she  could  not 
wear  it  again  until  Jim  was  himself.  She 
still  kept  the  little  slip  of  paper  with  the  ad- 
dress Telluride,  Mexico  upon  it.  Several 
times  she  had  taken  it  from  its  place  and 
begged  her  husband  to  look  at  it.  He  did  as 
she  requested  and  smiled  at  her  and,  then 
turning,  smoothed  the  soft  hair  which 
touched  his  arm. 

For  weeks  during  the  winter  the  roads 
to  town  were  snow  blocked.  Day  after  day 
she  sat  in  the  house  with  Jim  and  the  chil- 
dren. If  she  was  not  sewing,  she  told  them 
stories  or  invented  games  to  make  the  long 
days  pass  quickly.  Often  she  sat  with 
Laura  in  her  arms,  Thomas  leaning  against 
her  knee  and  her  husband  sitting  in  a  chair 
by  her  side,  his  hand  in  hers. 

The  mountains  gave  her  a  sense  of  se- 


110  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

curity.  The  old  road  up  the  mountains  to 
the  lumber  camps  had  not  been  used  for 
years.  She  could  mark  it  now  by;  the  heaps 
of  drifted  snow. 

When  the  season  opened  again,  her 
friends  and  neighbors  came  down  from 
town.  They  were  at  loss  what  to  do  for  her, 
for  she  seemed  to  need  neither  encourage- 
ment nor  help,  for  her  hope  was  beyond 
theirs  and  her  manner  and  face  showed  no 
mark  of  suffering  or  sorrow.  But  one  or 
two  discerned  the  firmer  curve  of  her  lips 
and  the  stronger  light  in  her  eyes.  She  had 
set  herself  firmly  that  Jim  would  get  well 
and  that  she  would  take  care  of  him  and  the 
children  until  he  did.  How  long  that  time 
might  be  or  how  she  might  accomplish  her 
purpose  did  not  come  to  her.  She  meant  to 
do  it  regardless  of  all  handicaps. 

The  only  time  she  showed  any  feeling  on 
the  subject  was  when  a  friend  said  to  her, 
"Allie,  are  you  not  afraid  to  be  here  alone 
with  him  ?  You  do  not  know  what  turn  his 
affliction  may  take.  He  might  harm  you  or 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  111 

the  children.  The  burden  of  taking  care  of 
all  is  too  much  for  you.  You  could  put  him 
in  an  institution — " 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence.  Alice 
turned  to  the  children  and  said  quietly: 
"  Thomas,  you  and  Laura  pick  a  basket  of 
chips  for  mother  and  start  the  fire  for  sup- 
per." 

When  they  had  gone  from  hearing,  she 
turned  to  her  visitor.  Her  eyes  were  snap- 
ping with  indignation.  "  Never  again  say 
such  a  thing  before  the  children !  Not  for 
worlds  would  I  put  the  idea  of  fear  in  their 
little  heads.  Do  you  think  that  I  could  ever 
be  afraid  of  Jim?  Why,  he  never  harmed 
anyone  or  said  an  unkind  word  in  all  his 
life.  As  to  putting  him  away — " 

She  stood  up  and  flinging  out  her  hands, 
cried  with  spirit,  "As  long  as  I'm  able  to 
stand — as  long  as  I'm  able  to  crawl  about, 
Jim  stays  with  me.  Do  you  understand? 
He  did  everything  in  the  world  to  make  me 
happy  and  do  you  think  I  would  leave  him 
when  he's  helpless  ?  No ;  not  for  an  hour  I" 


112  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

It  was  easy  to  be  spirited  and  decided 
when  others  were  there,  and  she  kept  up 
bravely  even  when  alone.  But  the  greatest 
factor  of  her  sorrow  was  not  the  loss  of 
home  or  luxuries. 

"Jim, ' '  she  said  one  day.     l ' Who  am  I  ?  " 

He  smiled  but  attempted  no  answer. 

" What's  my  name,  Jim?"  She  put  her 
arms  about  his  neck,  and  looked  up  into  his 
face  as  she  repeated  the  question :  * '  What 's 
my  name,  Jim?  What  do  you  call  me?" 

He  smiled  again  and  touched  his  hand  to 
her  hair.  Again  and  again  she  tried  to 
have  him  call  her  by  name,  but  her  efforts 
were  in  vain.  The  Alice  of  the  old  days  had 
no  part  in  his  life.  After  one  of  these 
fruitless  attempts,  she  flung  herself  face 
downward  on  the  couch  and  sobbed  until 
her  body  was  shaken.  She  could  have  stood 
suffering,  poverty  and  work  if  he  would 
have  called  her  "Allie,"  as  of  old. 

Her  tears  and  sobs  troubled  him.  He 
stood  beside  her  with  the  piteous  look  of  a 
hunted  animal.  His  lips  quivered  and  grew 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  113 

white  as  he  knelt  and  laid  his  cheek  against 
her  tear-stained  one.  It  was  all  he  could 
do.  "Jim,  dear — call  me — Allie — do  say 
Allie,  just  once,  Jim!" 

Tears  of  suffering  came  to  his  eyes.  He 
shook  his  head,  bewildered  and  perplexed. 
He  could  not  recall  her. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  LUMBER  ROAD 

Several  years  passed,  marked  by  no 
change  except  that  Alice  was  wearing  out 
from  the  constant  attendance  upon  her  hus- 
band and  the  steady  work  without  recrea- 
tion of  any  kind.  Each  year  more  money 
was  needed  for  necessities.  It  took  more 
time  and  material  for  the  children's  clothes 
and  their  growing  bodies  demanded  more 
food.  Each  year  more  of  the  fund  was 
withdrawn  from  the  bank.  Alice  could 
economize  as  far  as  her  own  wants  were 
concerned  and  deny  herself  even  the  neces- 
sities, but  she  could  not  let  the  sacrifice 
touch  Jim  and  the  children.  She  wore  her 
plain  dark  cambric  dresses  through  summer 
and  winter.  The  bits  of  ribbon  and  lace 
115 


116  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

and  finery  she  had  worn  as  a  young  married 
woman  were  now  utilized  for  Laura. 

Thomas  had  been  in  school  four  years. 
He  was  a  slender,  delicate  boy  of  a  sensitive, 
refined  disposition.  He  had  justified  his 
father's  early  hopes  of  him,  for  he  loved 
books  and  was  a  born  student.  He  was  a 
quiet  boy.  Perhaps  he  realized  the  condi- 
tions about  the  house  more  than  his  mother 
suspected,  and  the  knowledge  weighed  upon 
him,  giving  him  the  quiet,  serious  mind  of 
one  years  older. 

Laura  was  eight,  and  as  light  and  airy  of 
disposition  as  a  butterfly  on  the  wing.  She 
was  as  delicately  featured  and  beautiful  as 
a  figure  in  Dresden  china. 

Leading  up  the  mountain  side  from  the 
mill-house  was  the  road  over  which  lumber 
had  been  hauled  years  before.  It  was  grass- 
grown  now  and  wild  berry  vines  grew  over 
it;  yet  there  was  neither  timber  nor  heavy 
underbrush.  On  the  very  crest  of  the  moun- 
tain was  the  old  camp  of  the  lumbermen.  It 
was  built  of  round  logs  with  windows  which 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  117 

swung  outward  and  a  rough  door  was  fas- 
tened with  a  latch  made  from  a  slab.  It  had 
been  built  to  accommodate  a  half -hundred 
lumbermen.  There  was  an  immense  kitchen 
and  dining-room,  beyond  which  was  a  lobby 
with  wooden  bunks  built  around  the  walls. 
The  five-leaved  ivy  had  covered  one  end  of 
the  building  and  in  the  cleared  space  before 
the  door  were  two  giant  oak  trees. 

The  walk  up  the  mountain  side  was  a  long 
and  hard  one,  but  it  offered  a  wealth  of 
beautiful  scenery  and  invigorating  air. 

Since  the  summer  that  Thomas  was  six 
he  had  taken  this  walk  with  his  father. 
When  the  berries  were  ripe,  they  picked  a 
basketful  as  they  wandered  along,  and  when 
they  reached  the  camp  in  the  woods,  they 
sat  down  on  a  rock  under  the  oaks  and  ate 
their  lunch. 

The  second  summer  that  such  journeys 
were  taken,  Thomas  worked  with  a  new  pur- 
pose in  mind.  Picking  berries  was  no 
longer  a  pastime,  but  real  work.  With  his 
father,  he  started  out  early  in  the  morning 


118  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

and  picked  all  day  long.  With  evening  they 
came  down  the  mountain  road,  the  boy  stag- 
gering under  his  load  and  almost  fainting 
for  sheer  weariness. 

When  he  had  eaten  his  supper  and  made 
himself  clean,  he  started  out  for  town  to  sell 
the  berries,  peddling  them  from  door  to 
door. 

Alice  stood  in  the  doorway  watching  him 
until  he  had  turned  the  bend  of  the  road. 
A  boy  eight  years  old,  peddling  from  door 
to  door!  Neither  his  father  nor  she  had 
planned  such  a  life  for  him.  He  came  home 
tired,  but  before  the  summer  was  over  his 
muscles  had  grown  hard  and  strong,  and  the 
sensitive  nerves  were  forgetting  their  own 
existence. 

When  berries  were  unseasonable,  there 
were  flowers  or  ferns  to  be  gathered.  So  all 
summer  Jim  and  his  children  lived  on  the 
mountain  side. 

The  only  irritability  that  Jim  had  shown 
during  these  seven  yeans  was  in  the  pres- 
ence of  strangers.  He  grew  nervous  and 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  119 

uneasy  then  and  the  appealing  looks  he  gave 
his  wife  were  those  of  one  who  felt  that  he 
was  not  as  others. 

Alice  did  not  often  subject  him  to  this  un- 
pleasantness, for  she  permitted  but  one  or 
two  old  friends  to  come  to  the  house  in  the 
wood.  It  was  always  with  a  feeling  of  re- 
lief that  she  watched  the  children  and  their 
father  start  out  for  a  day  on  the  mountains. 
He  seemed  glad  to  go  and  she  knew  that  he 
was  safe  for  that  day  at  least. 

At  intervals  she  attempted  to  recall  his 
mind  to  the  past,  but  without  results. 
When  the  children  were  asleep  or  in  bed — 
for  she  would  not  in  their  presence  suggest 
that  anything  was  amiss  with  their  father — 
she  asked  him  of  the  hidden  money,  trying 
by  every  means  in  her  power  to  lead  his 
thoughts  back.  She  kept  the  little  slip  of 
paper  with  the  address  on  it,  and  again  and 
again  brought  it  out  and  called  his  attention 
to  it.  Always  when  his  eyes  rested  on  the 
paper,  he  looked  up  at  her  piteously,  and 
for  the  instant  she  fancied  she  saw  the  light 


120  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

of  intelligence  pass  like  a  ray  of  sunlight. 

Each  day  was  a  new  day  to  him;  each 
hour,  a  new  hour.  His  mind  held  neither 
past  nor  future,  only  the  single  present  mo- 
ment, and  even  that  was  not  fully  compre- 
hended. 

There  was  one  exception;  one  moment  of 
the  past  remained.  He  yet  carried  his  time- 
piece with  the  broken  mainspring  and  the 
hands  which  always  pointed  to  eight-fifteen. 
Whenever  his  eyes  rested  upon  its  face,  he 
spoke  of  Number  Ten  being  long  past  due, 
and  wondered  what  kept  her  late.  He  gave 
his  signal  for  the  train  to  pull  out  just  as  he 
would  have  done  had  grace  been  granted  to 
him  seven  years  before. 

Alice  often  felt  as  though  she  could  not 
see  him  go  through  that  pantomime,  so  she 
slipped  the  watch  away  and  hid  it  for  sev- 
eral months.  It  mattered  little  how  busy 
she  was  or  how  tired  she  was  in  body  and 
spirit,  each  moment  that  her  mind  had  lei- 
sure its  first  thought  was  to  plan  something 
that  might  reach  Jim. 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  121 

It  came  to  her  one  evening  that  she  would 
move  the  hands  of  the  watch  and  let  him 
have  it  again.  Perhaps  he  would  be  able  to 
grasp  the  change  and  the  shock  might  stir 
his  benumbed  faculties  into  life.  She  con- 
sidered the  matter  well.  The  change  might 
only  annoy  him,  and  she  could  not  bear  that. 
Several  days  passed  before  she  could  bring 
herself  to  make  the  change.  When  she  did 
so,  she  laid  the  watch  where  he  would  find 
it  when  he  dressed.  She  watched  him 
closely.  He  put  it  on  mechanically  as  he 
did  the  articles  of  clothing,  and  did  not 
glance  at  the  face. 

Later  when  the  opportunity  came  to  her, 
she  slipped  it  from  his  pocket  and  laid  it 
face  upward  in  his  hand.  He  glanced  at  it, 
and  then  springing  to  his  feet,  declared  that 
they  would  pull  out  in  a  few  minutes.  It 
had  been  the  watch  and  not  the  time  which 
had  recalled  his  last  conscious  act. 

The  little  fund  of  money  was  dwindling. 
There  was  enough  to  provide  the  necessities 
for  another  year,  but  little  more.  Alice 


122  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

would  not  permit  herself  to  think  of  her 
children's  future.  They  trudged  into  town 
to  attend  the  public  school,  but  Alice  saw 
nothing  before  them  when  they  had  finished 
that  course  except  work  without  special 
preparation.  She  feared  more  for  Thomas 
than  for  Laura,  for  he  was  not  strong  and 
was  marked  by  a  highly  sensitive  tempera- 
ment which  would  make  his  struggle  with 
the  world  a  peculiarly  trying  one. 

Not  only  the  money  was  running  low,  but 
her  physical  strength  also.  She  found  that 
she  was  forcing  herself  to  work  which  be- 
fore had  not  tired  her.  The  daily  routine 
of  the  house,  and  sewing  was  burdensome. 
Each  evening  she  was  glad  to  go  to  bed  at 
dusk ;  but  even  this  brought  no  rest,  for  her 
mind  was  busy  planning  and  contriving  to 
make  her  strength  and  money  last  until  she 
could  prepare  the  children  for  their  life 
work. 

Mr.  McCormick  had  read  her  well  seven 
years  before.  Her  mental  attitude  toward 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  123 

the  trials  which  had  been  sent  upon  her  and 
her  family  had  not  changed.  For  several 
years  she  had  performed  each  duty  faith- 
fully and  had  looked  about  her  that  nothing 
was  left  undone,  but  she  did  it  for  love  of 
Jim  and  her  children.  She  had  not  com- 
plained or  asked  help  of  anyone  because  her 
natural  instincts  were  against  whiners  and 
beggars.  Her  love  and  her  pride  had 
caused  her  to  fulfill  her  duty  uncomplain- 
ingly and  well;  but  there  had  never  been  a 
high  sense  of  trust  or  faith  in  what  she  did. 
She  had  never  once  said  to  herself  that  this 
affliction  had  been  sent  upon  them  by  a  wise 
and  loving  Father,  and  though  she  could  not 
understand  the  reason  for  this  chastise- 
ment, she  was  willing  to  believe  that  it  was 
wisely  sent  and  would  result  in  ultimate 
good.  There  was  always  a  rebellious  feel- 
ing in  her  heart  when  she  considered  the 
matter.  Her  great  strong  husband  who 
had  done  his  work  well  and  always  had  a 
kind  word  for  everyone,  why  should  he  be 


124  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

stricken,  and  her  innocent  babies — why 
should  they  be  deprived  of  a  father's  love 
and  protection  I 

Her  thoughts  ran  on  such  lines  whenever 
she  considered  the  subject.  It  was  well  for 
her  that  her  hands  and  mind  were  busied; 
else  her  rebellious  thoughts  might  have  de- 
veloped into  a  bitterness. 

The  children  and  their  father  had  gone 
out  early  in  the  morning  one  spring  day  in 
search  of  the  rhododendron,  and  the  mother 
sat  by  the  window  overlooking  the  lumber 
road.  Her  fingers  were  busy  with  her  sew- 
ing but  her  glance  wandered  toward  the 
grass-grown  route  up  the  mountain  side. 

The  sound  of  wheels  reached  her  ears. 
Heavy  wagons  were  coming  toward  the  mill- 
house.  She  could  tell  that  they  had  turned 
from  the  main  road  for  there  was  the  sound 
of  creaking  axles  as  the  vehicles  bumped 
over  the  rocky  road. 

In  a  few  minutes  several  teams  and  rough 
wagons  loaded  down  with  boxes  and  crates 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME          .     125 

passed  by  her  window.  She  could  distin- 
guish several  objects — a  coal-oil  stove,  sev- 
eral cots  and  mattresses.  The  wagons  were 
piled  high  and  the  heavy  draft  horses 
strained  every  muscle  as  they  started  the  as- 
cent of  the  mountain. 

When  Thomas  came  in,  she  inquired  if 
he  had  seen  the  teams  or  knew  what  they 
meant. 

"I  did  not  see  them,  mother,"  he  replied 
in  his  serious,  quiet  way.  "We  were  on  the 
edge  of  the  road  when  I  heard  someone 
talking  to  the  horses.  When  I  heard  them 
I  turned  down  toward  the  old  spring.  We 
sat  and  rested  there  until  the  people  had 
passed.  We  couldn't  see  or  be  seen  where 
we  were  sitting.  I  thought  they  might  be  a 
party  of  fishermen  going  out  to  the  woods. 
I  was  afraid  they  might  worry  father,  so  we 
went  down  where  they  would  not  see  us." 

This  was  the  first  time  that  the  boy  had 
suggested  that  his  father  was  not  as  other 
fathers  and  needed  to  be  cared  for. 


126  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

"That  was  the  best  thing  to  do,"  Alice 
said  gently.  "You  must  always  take  care 
of  father,  Thomas." 

The  coming  of  the  hunters,  as  she  sup- 
posed them  to  be,  worried  her  more  than  she 
was  conscious.  They  were  in  her  thoughts 
before  she  fell  asleep  and  she  dreamed  of 
them  all  night  long. 

The  following  morning  when  the  children 
and  their  father  were  about  to  set  out  on 
their  search  for  flowers,  Alice  suggested  go- 
ing with  them  for  a  short  distance. 

"I'll  let  my  sewing  lie,"  she  said,  embrac- 
ing both  children  and  husband  in  the  smile 
that  she  had  never  let  them  miss.  "We'll 
walk  up  the  Run  instead  of  going  up  the 
mountain.  The  walk  will  be  fine,  and  you'll 
find  different  kinds  of  flowers." 

Laura  was  delighted  with  the  prospect  of 
a  change;  but  Thomas  understood  the  rea- 
son for  their  not  going  up  the  mountain. 
Alice  walked  with  them  until  they  were 
safely  on  their  way  and  then  turned  back  to 
finish  the  sewing. 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  127 

For  several  days,  the  teams  made  one  trip 
each  up  the  mountain  road.  One  after- 
noon, one  wagon  laden  with  trunks  and 
traveling  bags  passed  by  the  door  on  the  way 
up  the  mountain. 

Alice  laid  down  her  sewing  and  waited. 
She  had  the  feeling  that  her  privacy  had 
been  intruded  upon  and  that  a  change  was 
coming  to  the  old  mill-house.  She  and  her 
little  family  could  not  be  again  as  they  had 
been  this  seven  years.  She  was  not  wor- 
ried and  anxious  now  but  she  was  depressed 
and  hopeless;  Her  husband's  weakness 
would  be  before  the  eyes  of  strangers  whose 
tongues  might  be  busy  with  comment  of  her- 
self and  family. 

The  needle  trembled  in  her  hand  until  she 
could  not  take  a  stitch.  At  last  the  little 
garment  dropped  in  her  hand  and  her  head 
fell  upon  the  window-sill.  For  the  first  time 
in  seven  years  she  sobbed  until  the  frail,  lit- 
tle body  shook  with  emotion.  The  pent-up 
rebellion  of  all  these  years  broke  forth  in 
words,  "Oh,  why  has  the  Lord  sent  this  upon 


128  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

me  ?  Why  could  we  not  be  left  alone  in  our 
sorrow  and  affliction?'* 

The  mountains  raised  their  mighty  heads 
in  majesty  before  her  as  though  they  would 
have  given  her  the  answer  if  she  would  have 
lifted  her  eyes  unto  the  hills,  from  whence 
cometh  help. 

As  she  sat  overcome  with  this  new  trou- 
ble a  three-seated  light  wagon  turned  to- 
ward the  lumber  road.  The  occupants  were 
a  gay  set,  but  when  they  passed  the  mill- 
house  their  laughter  and  talk  stopped,  for 
sitting  by  the  window  was  a  worn,  tired  little 
woman  with  her  head  bowed  in  sorrow. 


PART  TWO 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  HOME  IN  THE  CITY 

The  library  was  an  immense  room  with 
long,  narrow  windows  looking  from  the 
front  on  the  paved  streets  and  from  the  side 
on  a  narrow,  brick  driveway.  Hundreds  of 
finely  bound  volumes  filled  cases  of  polished 
wood,  and  from  nooks  and  corners  marble 
fauns  and  their  like  peered  forth.  The  rugs 
were  Persian  and  the  few  paintings  were 
originals  from  master  hands.  The  rich 
draperies  were  drawn  before  the  windows  to 
shut  out  the  glare  of  the  afternoon  sun,  and 
the  room  was  in  semi-darkness. 

Coming  into  this  room  from  the  light- 
flooded  hall,  Mrs.  Houston  groped  her  way 
to  the  leather  covered  davenport  and  lay 
129 


130  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

down  upon  it  for  a  few  minutes'  rest  for  she 
had  risen  early  and  had  been  busy  until  that 
moment.  She  had  taken  upon  her  own 
shoulders  a  score  of  responsibilities  which 
rightfully  belonged  to  others.  She  was  a 
woman  of  middle  age,  wiry,  nervous  and  en- 
ergetic and  was  often  misunderstood,  for 
all  her  excellent  qualities  of  mind  and  heart 
were  hidden  by  a  brusque,  sharp  manner. 
She  repelled  on  first  acquaintance;  it  took 
months  to  learn  that  she  would  deny  herself 
leisure  and  all  else  to  help  another.  Her 
luxuries  and  wealth  made  no  strong  appeal 
to  her.  She  wanted  air  and  sunlight  with 
hygienic  conditions  and  the  freedom  of  a 
home.  A  dimity  curtain  pleased  her  eye 
more  than  the  most  elaborate  handworked 
Battenberg  one. 

"I  don't  care  about  it,"  she  said  brusquely 
one  day  to  a  friend  who  was  showing  her  a 
collection  of  handmade  laces.  "It  always 
brings  to  mind  the  tired  eyes  and  jerking 
nerves  of  the  one  who  has  sat  indoors  for 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  131 

months  to  work  at  it.  I'd  rather  breathe 
fresh  air  one  hour  and  rest  my  eyes  on  one 
growing  oak  than  look  at  all  the  laces  poor 
needlewomen  have  ever  made." 

Mrs.  Houston  was  tired  this  afternoon 
and  needed  rest  for  she  had  promised  to 
sing  in  the  evening  at  one  of  the  missions  in 
the  east  end  of  the  city.  She  closed  her 
eyes  and  was  dropping  off  into  sleep,  when 
a  cough  came  from  the  front  windows.  It 
was  a  peculiar  little  cough  as  though  the 
guilty  party  was  doing  her  best  to  stifle  it. 

"Margery,  is  that  you?"  asked  Mrs.  Hous- 
ton, wide  awake  in  an  instant. 

"Yes,  mother." 

"What  are  you  doing?" 

"I'm  sitting  here  back  of  the  curtains 
reading." 

"What?"  The  question  was  put  in  such 
a  way  that  a  casual  hearer  might  believe 
that  Margery  would  be  inflicted  with  the 
severest  punishment  if  her  answer  was  not 
in  accordance  with  her  mother's  ideas  of 


132  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

what  was  suitable  for  a  young  girl's  ears. 
Margery  gave  the  title  of  the  ponderous  vol- 
ume which  she  was  skimming  through. 

1  'Come  here,  Margery,  please." 

The  girl  came  from  behind  the  curtains. 
She  was  long  and  lank  for  a  girl  of  twelve. 
Her  shoulders  drooped  forward;  her  face 
was  pale  and  thin,  and  her  long  braid  seemed 
to  weigh  her  down.  She  came  across  the 
room  and  stood  beside  her  mother,  waiting 
to  hear  what  she  might  say.  There  was  a 
respect  and  obedience  in  the  girl's  attitude 
and  promptness  that  told  of  excellent  breed- 
ing and  training. 

"I  wish  you  would  walk  down  to  the  farm 
for  me.  Tell  Mr.  Lykens  to  bring  some  new 
peas  to-morrow  and  as  much  extra  cream  as 
he  can  spare." 

" Couldn't  you  telephone?" 

"I  prefer  you  to  take  the  message.  On 
the  way  back  stop  at  Mrs.  Gardner's  and 
ask  her  if  she  has  a  second  copy  of  the  music 
for  this  evening.  If  she  wishes  you  to  stay 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  133 

a  while  and  play  with  Khoda,  you  may. 
You  needn  't  hurry  back. ' ' 

"Mr.  Gardner  was  making  a  trapeze  for 
Rhoda  the  last  time  I  was  there.  It  was  to 
be  in  the  carriage  shed.  I  wonder  if  he  has 
it  done." 

"Perhaps.  And,  Margery,  do  not  walk 
along  the  dusty  road.  If  you  go  along  the 
footpath  by  the  river  you  will  be  cool  and 
shaded  all  the  way." 

1 1  Yes,  mother. ' '  Margery  was  already  in 
the  hall  putting  on  her  flappy  big  sun  hat. 
She  coughed  as  she  left  the  house  but  as 
usual  did  her  best  to  stifle  it,  and  succeeded 
so  well  that  she  almost  strangled  herself  with 
the  effort.  She  had  had  barely  time  to  reach 
the  corner  when  Mrs.  Houston  went  to  the 
telephone  and  called  up  Mrs.  Gardner. 

"I've  sent  Margery  down  on  an  errand," 
she  said.  "I'm  not  at  all  anxious  about  a 
second  copy  of  the  music  for  this  evening. 
The  songs  are  old  and  I  know  them;  but  I 
wished  to  get  my  little  girl  out  into  the  air. 


134  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

She's  been  indoors  all  day,  moping  over  a 
book.  I  gave  her  permission  to  visit  Rhoda 
if  you  asked  her.  I  wish  your  Miss  Ath- 
letics would  teach  her  a  few  tricks  on  the 
trapeze  or  run  her  a  race  over  the  fields; 
anything  to  keep  her  moving  out  of  doors." 

That  was  all.  Mrs.  Houston  went  back  to 
the  couch  and  lay  down  again,  closing  her 
eyes  in  an  effort  to  sleep.  She  had  disposed 
of  her  daughter  for  the  afternoon  but  worri- 
some thoughts  of  her  held  possession  of  the 
mother's  mind.  She  was  alarmed  at  Mar- 
gery's condition  and  not  without  reason. 
The  girl  was  growing  fast,  was  tall  beyond 
her  years,  and  this  rapid  growth  had  robbed 
her  of  much  of  her  strength.  She  was  satis- 
fied to  sit  curled  up  with  a  book  until  her 
shoulders  stooped  and  a  hacking  cough  an- 
noyed her. 

Mrs.  Houston  had  spoken  to  the  family 
physician  concerning  her.  Acknowledging 
that  the  cough  might  develop  into  a  disease, 
his  advice  had  been  to  take  the  girl  to  a 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  135 

higher  altitude  and  to  let  her  run  wild  in  the 
open  air. 

Since  the  consultation  with  the  doctor 
Mrs.  Houston  had  looked  about  her  for  a 
suitable  place.  She  disliked  the  fashionable 
summer  resorts,  feeling  that  the  constant 
gayety  and  fine  dressing  would  not  build  up 
Margery  either  physically  or  ethically.  All 
available  places  were  filled  with  summer 
boarders.  So  far  she  had  been  unable  to 
find  any  place  that  suited  her  for  Margery. 

Nothing  had  been  said  of  these  things  to 
the  girl  herself  for  the  mother  believed  it 
unwise  for  a  young  person  to  let  her  mind 
dwell  much  on  aches  and  pains ;  neither  had 
she  spoken  of  the  matter  to  her  husband. 
He  was  engrossed  in  business.  His  dinner 
hour  and  evening  were  the  only  times  he 
could  be  home  and  she  hesitated  to  intrude 
the  family  troubles  upon  his  little  leisure. 
So  far  as  the  management  of  the  house  and 
children  were  concerned,  she  was  the  head. 
She  was  accustomed  to  make  her  plans,  see 


136  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

to  their  arrangements  and  then  lay  the  mat- 
ter before  him.  He  would  listen  attentively, 
nod  approvingly  while  she  talked  and  then 
respond,  "Well,  well,  you  surely  have  a  good 
head  for  detail,  Sue !  You  should  have  been 
a  business  woman.  I  don't  see  how  you 
manage  the  children  the  way  you  do.  Every- 
one who  mentions  our  girl  and  boy  say  that 
they're  the  best  trained  youngsters  to  be 
found.  I  told  Kendig  the  other  day  after  he 
spent  Sunday  here  that  I  didn't  take  any  of 
the  credit ;  I  left  that  for  their  mother.  The 
only  credit  I  do  take  is  that  I  selected  the 
mother.  Now,  Sue,  about  this  new  plan. 
You  and  the  children  for  it!  How  much 
money  will  you  need  ? ' ' 

Supplying  the  money  was  as  far  as  he  as- 
sumed the  responsibility.  He  knew  that  his 
wife  would  manage  well  without  his  sugges- 
tions or  help  and  he  left  such  matters  in  her 
hands. 

But  now  she  had  reached  a  place  where 
she  could  not  act.  She  waited  until  the  din- 
ner was  over,  the  children  interested  in  their 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  137 

amusements,  and  she  was  alone  with  her  hus- 
band. 

"  Something  must  be  done  about  Mar- 
gery!" she  exclaimed  brusquely,  as  though 
she  was  blaming  him  and  Margery  for  the 
condition  of  affairs. 

"Why?  Has  she  gotten  beyond  you, 
Sue?"  He  looked  up  from  his  paper  and, 
in  an  attitude  of  attention,  waited  for  her  to 
continue. 

He  was  a  big,  portly,  good-natured  look- 
ing man  upon  whom  the  cares  of  the  world 
rested  lightly.  He  was  not  one  to  go  out  to 
meet  trouble  and  when  it  intruded  itself 
upon  him,  he  soon  rid  himself  of  its  pres- 
ence. Yet  with  his  easy-going  way,  he  was  a 
power  along  certain  lines.  The  name  of 
Houston  stood  high  in  the  lumber  market. 
He  knew  the  value  of  lumber  from  the 
green  young  sapling  in  the  forest  to  the 
finished,  polished  article  ready  for  a  draw- 
ing-room. He  made  no  pretense  of  know- 
ing anything  else,  but  he  knew  that  he 
was  master  along  these  lines.  He  had  been 


138  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

brought  up  at  the  business;  he  had  lived 
in  the  lumber-camps  as  a  boy;  he  had  sur- 
veyed land  and  scaled  logs  as  a  young 
man.  Now,  in  middle  age,  his  judgment 
was  accepted  when  it  came  to  the  val- 
uation of  tracts  of  timber  land,  or  the  num- 
ber of  million  feet  of  logs  a  certain  section 
could  produce.  When  the  lumbermen 
brought  down  the  rafts  in  the  spring,  he 
•walked  over  the  timber  and  said,  "Oak — I'll 
give  you  eight  hundred  cash.  Hemlock — 
not  worth  more  than  six  hundred."  His 
prices  gave  the  jobbers  a  fair  profit  for  their 
time  and  money,  and  he  himself  never  lost 
by  the  transaction. 

Now,  when  his  wife  did  not  answer  at 
once,  he  repeated  the  question.    "Has  she 
gotten  beyond  you,  Sue?" 
1 1  Scarcely !    I  had  in  mind  her  health. ' ' 
1 '  What 's  wrong  ?    I  didn  't  notice — ' ' 
"Of  course  you  didn't!    I  didn't  expect 
you  to  notice.    But  the  child  is  growing  too 
fast.    She  has  no  vitality  and  she  has  such 
an  annoying  cough." 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  139 

"See    the     doctor,"     was    his     advice. 

"I  have.  Do  you  suppose  I  would  have 
bothered  you  if  that  was  all  there  was  to  be 
done?  I 've  been  to  Doctor  Harter." 

Then  she  related  in  detail  what  had  taken 
place  at  the  doctor's  office  and  the  advice 
which  had  been  given  to  her.  "Now,  where 
am  I  to  go  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  looked  as  perplexed  as  though  she  had 
inquired  of  him  where  to  find  the  golden  ap- 
ples of  the  Hesperides,  and  began  an  enu- 
meration of  the  fashionable  summer  resorts. 

"Nonsense,  Fred!  You  don't  grasp  the 
situation !  I  want  some  quiet  place  high  in 
the  mountains  where  fashionable  society 
will  not  intrude.  I  want  the  children  to 
wear  plain  dark  clothes,  live  out  all  day  and 
run  in  their  bare  feet  if  they  take  the  notion. 
Just  three  months  of  Indian  life  where 
they'll  have  nothing  daintier  than  bacon  and 
eggs." 

"Oh,  I  begin  to  understand,"  he  said  at 
length.  "It  comes  to  me  now  about  a  letter 
I  had  from  a  young  fellow  up  the  road. 


140  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

He's  put  the  reins  in  our  hand.  What  do 
you  think  of  a  camp  on  top  of  the  Alle- 
ghenies?" 

"Or  an  air  castle?  One  seems  about  as 
probable  as  the  other." 

"The  camp  is  practical.  Let  me  tell  you 
first  about  the  letter  from  this  young  man. 
I  don't  know  him,  but  he  lives  up  towards 
the  middle  of  the  state.  It  seems  he  belongs 
to  a  club  and  so  he  wrote  to  ask  if  a  party  of 
them  might  have  the  use  of  the  old  hunter's 
camp  at  Paddy's  Run.  I  intended  to  tell 
him  to  go  ahead  and  make  what  use  they 
could  of  it,  but  this  opinion  of  the  doctor 
about  Margery  gives  another  face  to  the 
matter.  The  camp  must  be  a  little  run  down 
but  that  can  be  easily  attended  to.  What  do 
you  think  of  it?" 

"It  sounds  good;  but  I'd  like  to  know 
more  about  it." 

"You  shall  know  all  I  remember  of  it:  a 
great  log  affair  with  bunks  built  in  the  lobby 
for  beds  and  a  cleared  space  of  half  an  acre 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  141 

about  it  so  that  there'll  be  no  immediate 
trouble  with  snakes.  But  best  of  all,  Sue, 
when  you're  there  you  can  look  down  on  the 
clouds  in  the  valley  below.  It's  so  far  away 
that  the  sound  of  civilization  never  reaches 
it  and  yet  I  think  it  is  only  four  or  five  miles 
from  the  camp  to  the  mouth  of  the  Run.  Up 
there  you  can  wear  flannels  in  July  and 
you'll  get  so  hungry  that  you'll  eat  anything 
that's  set  before  you.  There's  the  smell  of 
pine  and  hemlock  everywhere.  Why,  it's 
heaven 's  own  land ! ' ' 

His  wife  smiled  grimly.  "It's  strange  I 
never  heard  you  tell  of  it  before." 

"I've  been  busy  with  other  matters  and 
haven't  had  time  to  think  of  it.  But  it's 
the  very  place  for  us  all.  I'll  send  some  men 
up  to  clear  it  out  and  see  what's  needed  to 
put  it  in  order.  We'll  be  comfortable  and 
quiet  for  a  few  months.  We'll  go  as  soon 
as  the  place  is  fixed  up.  You'd  better  make 
out  a  list  of  what  you'll  need.  There'll  be 
cots  and  blankets — don't  forget  blankets, 


142  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

Sue,  though  it  is  July — and  bacon  and  eggs 
and  coffee,  and  Jamison  will  take  up  a  Jer- 
sey cow  and  we'll  live  like  kings/* 

"Well,  I'm  surprised!  You  are  more  ex- 
cited and  pleased  than  the  children  will  be 
when  they  hear  the  plans. " 

"That's  because  they've  never  been  there. 
I've  been  homesick  for  the  place.  But  per- 
haps you  and  the  others  will  find  it  lonely. 
You'd  better  ask  someone  to  go  along.  The 
place  was  big  enough  to  hold  a  hundred  men 
in  close  quarters." 

"I  thought  of  taking  a  party.  Huldah 
must  go  along  to  cook  and  I  thought  of  let- 
ting her  ask  one  of  the  other  girls — which 
ever  one  she  could  get  along  with  best." 

"Make  out  a  list  of  supplies,  but  remember 
this,  Sue;  jot  down  what  you  think  will  be 
plenty  and  then  double  that  amount.  You'll 
find  that  will  last  you  about  half  as  long  as 
you've  counted  on.  It's  a  rule  of  camp  that 
a  man's  stomach  quadruples  itself." 

The  conversation  ended  there.  She 
turned  away  to  get  a  book  and  pencil.  So 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  143 

far  as  she  was  concerned  the  matter  was  set- 
tled. She  knew  the  camp  would  be  put  in 
order  in  the  shortest  possible  time,  and  that 
it  was  left  to  her  to  have  in  readiness  the 
household  necessities,  servants  and  guests. 

When  the  children  were  ready  for  bed  she 
mentioned  the  subject  to  them.  Margery 
did  not  enthuse,  but  that  was  her  way.  Her 
quiet,  "I'm  glad  of  that,"  meant  quite  as 
much  as  William's  joyous  expletives. 

When  she  left  and  the  children  were  in 
bed,  William  carried  on  a  conversation  with 
his  sister  in  the  room  adjoining.  He  had 
great  schemes  of  what  he  would  do  on  the 
mountain  top. 

"I  hope  there'll  be  rattlers,  Marge! 
Don't  you?  I  never  killed  one.  I'd  like  to 
tell  the  fellows  about  it  next  year.  I'd  keep 
the  rattlers,  but  you  could  have  the  skin  for 
a  belt." 

Margery  shuddered.  "William,  do  talk 
something  else !  I  can  feel  the  snakes  crawl- 
ing about  everywhere." 

"Ralph  Payne  was  camping  once  when  a 


144  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

panther  sprang  in  on  them.  They  were  sit- 
ting around  the  fire  and  no  one  ever  sus- 
pected that  there  was  a  panther  anywhere. 
They  shot  it,  of  course,  but  not  before  one  of 
the  men  got  its  teeth  in  his  shoulder.  I  wish 
father  would  take  some  guns.  We'll  need 
them.  What  would  we  do  if  a  bear  would 
come  walking  into  camp  1  I  'm  going  to  ask 
father  to  get  me  a  rifle." 

1 1  And  blow  our  heads  off  ?  Ugh ! ' '  Mar- 
gery shuddered  and  hid  her  head  beneath 
the  bed  clothes  from  which  she  soon  emerged 
to  exclaim,  " William  Houston,  if  you  don't 
stop  talking  of  such  horrible  things,  I'll — " 
She  could  think  of  nothing  dreadful  enough 
to  awe  him. 

"Old  scarey!"  he  cried.  "There'll  be  no 
fun  if  you  girls  are  along.  Rhoda  will  be  all 
right.  She  has  as  much  nerve  as  a  boy. 
I  wish  mother  wouldn't  take  any  more 
along." 

"I  tell  you  whom  I  wish  she  wouldn't  take 
along."  There  was  real  concern  in  Mar- 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  145 

gery's  voice  as  she  spoke  which  was  not  the 
result  of  pique  or  whim. 

"Who!" 

"Uncle  Doctor.  Do  you  think  she'll  take 
him?" 

"If  she  does,  I  won't  go,"  said  William. 
"And  mother  won't  be  able  to  make  me." 

As  if  in  answer  to  his  bit  of  heresy,  Mrs. 
Houston  spoke  from  the  hall  below.  "Not 
another  word  tonight,  William." 

"No,  mother,"  was  the  reply. 


10 


CHAPTER  II 

PREPARATION  FOR  CAMP. 

Margery  was  two  years  older  than  Wil- 
liam but  her  attitude  toward  him  was  that  of 
a  middle-aged  woman  toward  a  little  child. 
At  rare  intervals  she  quarreled  with  him 
after  a  childish  fashion  but  such  occasions 
were  rare.  Usually  she  admonished  and  ad- 
vised him  and  went  out  of  her  way  to  be  good 
to  him. 

41  Maybe  he  doesn't  feel  good,  mother, " 
she  would  say  when  Mrs.  Houston  took  Wil- 
liam to  task  for  some  neglect  of  work.  "He 
seemed  so  tired  out.  I  'd  let  him  sleep  late, ' ' 
she  would  say  cajolingly  to  the  head  of  the 
house  when  William  did  not  appear  at  the 
breakfast  table. 

She  did  everything  in  her  power  to  please 
this  younger  brother,  even  to  her  choice  of 
147 


148  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

friends.  So  far  in  her  short  life,  she  had 
found  one  thing  she  could  not  do  even  for 
William  and  that  was  to  put  the  stretchy, 
ugly  angleworms  to  the  hook.  She  had  tried 
it  several  times  but  had  gotten  no  further 
than  to  take  the  distasteful  things  in  her 
hand. 

At  the  mention  of  the  camping  party,  her 
first  thought  had  been  to  invite  Mabel  Wade 
and  Isabelle  Geary,  her  most  intimate 
friends  in  school.  They  were  fond  of  paint- 
ing and  books  and  fancy  work  and  they 
hated  angleworms  as  much  as  she  did.  For 
the  same  reason  that  she  was  fond  of  these 
girls,  William  disliked  them  and  objected  to 
their  being  of  the  party.  William's  pleasure 
always  first  in  Margery's  mind,  she  put  her 
own  wishes  aside  and  decided  that  Rhoda 
should  be  her  guest  and  went  at  once  to  her 
mother.  "Ill  ask  Ehoda,  mother,  for  my 
guest,  if  you  do  not  mind." 

Mrs.  Houston  looked  up  in  surprise  from 
her  accounts.  She  knew  Rhoda,  the  out- 
door girl,  had  little  in  common  with  Mar- 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  149 

gery,  the  student.  She  hesitated  before  re- 
plying, for  she  felt  that  Margery  would  en- 
joy Mabel's  and  Isabelle's  company,  but  per- 
haps Rhoda  would  do  her  the  most  good  and 
for  that  purpose  they  were  going. 

"Ask  whom  you  please,"  she  said  ab- 
ruptly, turning  back  to  her  work.  "I 
didn't  limit  the  number.  You  may  ask 


more.' 


"I  think  Rhoda  will  be  enough." 

A  light  suddenly  came  to  Mrs.  Houston. 
She  knew  that  William  could  play  the  part 
of  tyrant  in  his  boyish  way.  She  turned  as 
Margery  was  leaving  the  room. 

"Why  does  Will  like  Rhoda  better  than  he 
does  the  other  girls?" 

"Because  she  isn't  afraid.  She  baits 
hooks  with  those  terrible  wriggling  worms ! 
When  she  was  in  school  last  spring,  she  had 
her  coat-pocket  full  of  fish  worms,  and  they 
crawled  out  over  her  desk."  Margery 
pressed  her  lips  tight  after  this  statement, 
and  with  an  effort  suppressed  a  grimace  of 
disgust. 


150  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

"Does  Mabel  like  worms,  and  skinning  the 
cat?" 

"No,  she  hates  them  almost  as  much  as  I 
do.  But  Rhoda  is  not  afraid  of  anything. 
She  used  to  handle  all  the  old  bones  on  the 
skeleton  when  we  were  studying  anatomy. 
She  did  it  to  make  us  creep." 

"I  wish  you  to  ask  Mabel  and  Isabelle  to 
go  with  us.  There  '11  be  room  for  all. ' ' 

The  house  was  a  scene  of  excitement  for 
several  days  following  the  decision  about  go- 
ing into  camp.  Mr.  Houston  had  sent  sev- 
eral men  ahead  to  put  the  place  in  repair  and 
to  make  out  a  list  of  articles  needed  for  the 
comfort  of  the  campers. 

William  was  gathering  his  particular 
friends  together  to  discuss  the  needs  of  one 
who  lives  in  the  wilds.  Margery,  more 
quiet  but  quite  as  active,  was  busy  from 
morning  until  night.  She  had  been  willing 
to  sacrifice  her  own  pleasure  about  inviting 
only  Rhoda,  yet  she  could  not  help  feeling 
glad  that  her  mother  had  taken  the  matter 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  151 

in  her  own  hands.  She  was  a  strange,  quiet 
girl  with  an  abnormally  developed  sense  of 
duty,  who  had  been  over-restricted  and  over- 
trained until  the  freedom  of  childhood  had 
been  lost.  William  thrived  and  was  gay 
and  happy  under  the  same  training  but  it 
was  his  nature  to  effervesce  and  bubble  over 
with  joy  on  the  slightest  provocation. 

But  Margery,  with  her  highly  sensitive 
organism,  her  ideas  of  duty  and  honor, 
needed  no  discipline.  She  would  have  de- 
veloped better  if  she  had  been  left  without 
rules  and  laws.  Her  mother  had  recognized 
this  truth  for  some  months,  and  was  doing 
all  in  her  power  to  undo  the  effect  of  her 
over-discipline.  She  now  tried  to  force 
upon  her  freedom  of  choice  and  manner. 

"You'll  need  some  indoor  games  and 
books  for  rainy  days,  Margery,"  said  her 
mother.  "You  had  better  attend  to  that 
matter.  I'll  be  busy  with  the  necessities." 

"Very  well.  What  games  shall  I  take 
and  what  books?" 


152  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

"I'll  leave  that  to  you.  They  are  to  be 
for  your  amusement.  Take  what  you 
wish." 

"May  I  ask  the  girls  to  help  me  select 
them!" 

"Do  precisely  as  you  choose.  The  mat- 
ter is  in  your  hand.  When  you  need  money, 
come  to  me."  Then  thinking  better  of  it, 
she  counted  out  some  bills.  "Use  that;  I 
think  it  will  be  enough  to  see  you  through. 
If  it  isn't,  come  to  me." 

Margery  had  barely  quitted  the  room 
when  William  came  in  through  a  low  win- 
dow. He  was  whistling  gayly,  while  Nero, 
the  big  mastiff,  lumbered  after  him. 

"I  wish  that  dog  kept  out  of  the  house, 
William." 

"I  can't  do  it.  He  won't  stay  anywhere 
without  me."  His  face  beamed  with  smiles 
as  he  met  his  mother's  eyes.  He  thought  he 
had  settled  effectively  the  question  of  Nero's 
presence  in  the  house. 

"Then  stay  outside  with  him.  I  will  not 
have  the  floor  tracked  so."  She  turned 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  153 

back  to  the  housekeeping  accounts  with  the 
air  of  one  who  has  finished  the  interview. 

William  opened  the  low  window. 

"Come,  go  out,  Nero!"  The  huge  mas- 
tiff looked  up  into  his  master's  face  and  see- 
ing that  he  was  in  earnest,  straightway 
walked  out. 

Coming  back  to  his  mother's  desk,  he 
asked :  * '  Can  I  buy  what  I  need  for  camp  ? ' ' 

"Make  out  a  list.    I'll  look  it  over." 

'  *  But  I  'd  rather  do  the  buying !  I  'd  make 
such  bargains.  I  know  how  I'd  save  a  good 
bit  if  I  could  buy  what  I  wanted." 

"I'm  not  at  all  anxious  about  the  bar- 
gains, William!  Make  out  your  list,  and 
I'll  see  that  you  have  all  that  is  suitable." 

"You  gave  Marge — " 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence  for  his 
mother  gave  him  such  a  look  that  he  ceased. 
"That  is  my  affair  and  Margery's,"  she  said 
curtly.  "You  and  your  sister  are  wholly 
different  people." 

*  *  All  right.  I  '11  make  out  the  list, ' '  he  re- 
plied cheerily.  "I '11  see  the  fellows.  Maybe 


154  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

they'll  think  of  something  that  I  haven't." 

"I  don't  doubt  it,"  dryly. 

"Say,  mother,  is  Uncle  Doctor  going  with 
us?  If  you  haven't  asked  him,  don't  do  it. 
We'll  have  ever  so  much  more  fun  if  he 
isn't  along." 

"Never  mind  Uncle  Doctor  now.  It  isn't 
wise  to  trouble  yourself  about  matters  which 
are  really  no  concern  of  yours.  If  Uncle 
Doctor  is  to  be  there,  he'll  be  there.  You 
have  invited  your  guests  without  question 
and  your  father  and  mother  intend  taking 
the  same  privilege." 

"Oh,  all  right,  but  he  makes  me  mad,  but 
I'll  keep  away  from  him." 

"Mabel  and  Isabelle  are  also  going." 

"Are  they?" 

To  his  mother's  surprise  there  was  a  tone 
of  eagerness  in  his  voice.  She  had  ex- 
pected him  to  express  a  wish  for  their  names 
to  be  taken  from  the  list  of  guests.  But 
she  understood  when  he  added  gleefully, 
"Then  look  out  for  the  fun!  I  can  keep 
them  racing  over  the  mountain  if  I  am  only 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  155 

lucky  enough  to  get  a  little  green  wood- 
snake.  Isabelle  has  a  voice  like  a  Coman- 
che  Indian." 

"When  did  you  hear  a  ComancheT' 

"I  meant  she  has  a  voice  like  I  imagine 
a  Comanche  has.  I'm  going  down  to  see 
Tom  Jones  and  Warren  Dehants.  I've 
asked  them  and  they'll  be  wild  when  they 
know  those  yellers  are  going.  Whatever 
made  Margery  ask  them?" 

"Margery  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  I 
said  that  they  should  be  invited." 

He  walked  off  crestfallen,  for  now  the 
matter  was  out  of  his  hands.  He  could 
have  managed  Margery,  but  his  mother  was 
beyond  his  control. 

Margery,  memorandum  and  pencil  in 
hand,  had  gone  for  an  interview  with  the 
girls.  She  felt  weighed  down  by  the  re- 
sponsibilities of  so  great  a  sum  of  money 
as  her  mother  had  given  her.  She  would 
much  rather  have  made  out  the  list  and  had 
her  mother  suggest  changes. 

Fortunately  for  her  peace  of  mind,  Isa- 


156  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

belle,  to  whom  she  went  first,  had  not  the 
same  idea  in  regard  to  money.  She  heard 
Margery's  story,  looked  upon  the  bills  and 
cried  out  in  excitement:  "I  wish  I  had  so 
much  to  spend!  You're  a  lucky  girl,  Mar- 
gery. I  never  have  more  than  a  dollar  at 
a  time,  and  I  do  love  to  go  shopping!" 

Margery's  heart  grew  light  at  these 
words  and  her  countenance  brightened. 
Spending  money  was  a  pastime  then  in- 
stead of  a  burdensome  duty  to  be  per- 
formed. 

"I'm  glad  you  feel  the  way  you  do,  Isa- 
belle.  Then  you'll  go  with  me  to  the  stores. 
I  was  afraid  that  you  would  not  care  to." 

1  ' Care  to?  Well,  I  think  I  shall!  The 
next  best  thing  to  having  money  of  your 
own  to  spend  is  helping  some  one  spend 
theirs.  Mother  is  in  her  room.  I'll  return 
in  a  moment." 

In  a  short  time  she  was  back  with  Mar- 
gery and  ready  to  start.  Khoda  and  Mabel 
joined  them  later. 


'You've  made  a  nice  job  of  it,  keeping  me  in  bed 
almost  a  week."     (See  page  ;>.>/.) 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  157 

"Will  says  he's  going  to  have  a  rifle  if 
his  mother  lets  him  get  it,"  said  Ehoda. 
"I  do  hope  he  will.  We  could  hunt  for 
bears  and  panthers  then." 

"Do  you  suppose  there  are  any  near  the 
camp?"  Mabel  asked,  her  cheeks  growing 
pale  at  the  mere  thought. 

"That's  why  I'm  going,"  declared  Rhoda. 
"If  it  wasn't  for  the  hope  of  seeing  a  few 
wild  animals  and  a  copperhead  or  so,  I'd 
sooner  stay  at  home." 

"You'll  have  to  walk  to  see  them,"  said 
Margery  in  her  thoughtful,  gentle  way. 
"Father  says  that  we  need  not  be  afraid 
of  animals  there.  He  would  not  send  us 
there  if  there  was  any  danger." 

"I  can  scarcely  wait  until  we  start,"  said 
Mabel.  "I've  never  been  in  a  camp  before 
and  to  be  on  the  very  top  of  the  mountains 
will  be  romantic!" 

"My  father  has  been  there.  He  said  we 
could  look  down  and  see  the  clouds  in  the 
valley;  but  I  don't  understand  how  that  can 


158  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

be.  I  have  a  notion  that  he's  teasing  me," 
said  Isabelle.  "But  clouds  or  no  clouds,  I 
intend  having  the  time  of  my  life." 

" So  do  I!  It  seems  to  me  that  I  cannot 
wait  until  we  start.  It  will  be  so  romantic 
— just  like  a  novel,"  replied  Mabel. 

For  a  moment  Margery  was  quiet.  "I 
think  I'll  have  a  good  time.  I  know  I  shall 
unless  one  thing  happens,  and  if  that  hap- 
pens, it  won't  be  such  fun." 

The  girls  looked  at  her  with  eyes  opened 
wide  in  surprise.  "Do  tell  us,  Marge.  Is 
it  something  dreadful?  Does  your  mother 
intend  us  to  study?  Will  she  take  Miss 
Warner  with  her?" 

"No,  it  will  not  sound  so  dreadful  to  hear 
me  say  it — but  that's  because  you  don't 
really  know.  You  can't  realize  it  until  you 
have  lived  in  the  house  with  him.  It's  Un- 
cle Doctor.  I'm  afraid  mother  will  ask  him 
to  go  along." 

1  «  Uncle  Doctor !    Who  is  he  ?  " 

"Just  what  he  sounds  like.    He  is  moth- 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  159 

er's  half-brother  and  years  and  years  older. 
Why,  I  suppose  he's  at  least  fifty!  He's  a 
doctor  and  he  cuts  people's  arms  and  legs 
off  and  all  that,  and  never  seems  to  care  a 
bit." 

"Well,  he  won't  cut  mine  off,"  said  Isa- 
belle.  "He  don't  need  to  try  his  experi- 
ments on  me,  if  that  is  what  you're  afraid 
of!" 

"I  wasn't  thinking  of  that.  Of  course, 
he  only  does  that  when  people  are  hurt. 
But  when  you  see  him,  you'll  know. 
Even  Will  is  afraid  of  him." 

"Does  he  beat  you  or  swear  at  you?" 
cried  Rhoda,  eagerly.  Personally,  she 
would  have  enjoyed  standing  by  and  look- 
ing on  at  a  game  of  fisticuffs. 

"No,  do  you  think  he's  a  heathen?  He's 
a  gentleman,  but  he's  different  from  other 
people.  I  never  can  get  my  voice  above  a 
whisper  when  he's  near,  and  when  I  see 
how  sad  and  miserable  he  is,  I  feel  like 
crying.  I've  cried  more  than  once,"  she 


160  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

added,  blushing  at  this  confession  of  senti- 
ment. "But  he's  had  a  dreadful  sorrow, 
and  it's  made  him  touchy." 

"What  was  it?  Did  he  hurt  someone? 
Maybe  he  got  excited  and  cut  the  leg  off 
the  wrong  man!  I've  heard  of  such  mis- 
takes," said  Khoda.  To  do  the  young  lady 
justice,  there  was  little  of  which  she  had 
not  heard,  and  her  knowledge  was  always 
at  her  tongue's  end  for  the  edification  of 
those  who  cared  to  listen. 

"He  wouldn't  do  anything  like  that.  He 
isn't  just  an  ordinary  doctor,  Khoda.  He's 
known  everywhere,  and  he's  paid  thou- 
sands of  dollars  to  make  people's  backs 
straight,  and  their  legs  longer,  and  fix  up 
their  brains  when  they  don't  act  right." 

"What's  his  name?"  asked  Rhoda. 

"His  real  name  is  Henry  Brenhizer,  but 
we  call  him  Uncle  Doctor.  My  mother 
thinks  he's  lovely  and  she  makes  a  great 
fuss  over  him,  but  then  she  knows  how  sad 
he  is  and  she  told  me  that  she  sympathizes 
with  him." 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  161 

"Um — m,"  said  Rhoda.  That  word 
sympathise  put  her  all  at  sea  for  she  could 
not  quite  grasp  its  meaning.  But  being  a 
creature  thirsty  for  knowledge,  she  wasted 
no  time  until  she  asked  pertinently,  "What 
trouble  did  he  have,  Marge?" 

"I  can't  tell  you  now,  Rhoda.  It's  too 
long  a  story  and  we  can't  talk  and  shop 
both,  and  we're  almost  at  Gray's  store. 
But  I'll  tell  you  the  whole  story  when  we 
go  into  camp.  Some  night  we'll  sit  by  the 
campfire  and  I'll  tell  you  what  makes 
Uncle  Doctor  so  queer." 

"By  the  campfire!  That  will  be  so  ro- 
mantic— just  like  a  novel,"  said  Mabel. 

The  first  of  the  week  the  party  of  camp- 
ers set  forth  for  the  mountain  heights,  go- 
ing by  train  to  the  railroad  town,  and  then 
driving  up  Paddy's  Eun  to  the  old  lumber 
road.  As  they  turned  into  the  Run,  they 
came  to  the  little  old  mill-house,  now  cov- 
ered from  foundation  to  roof  by  the  rich 
green  of  the  woodbine.  As  they  drew  near, 

they  saw  a  woman  with  head  bowed  upon 
u 


162  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

the  window-sill.  Her  sewing  was  in  her 
hands,  but  her  slender  figure  was  shaken 
with  sobs. 

Instinctively  the  laughter  and  chatter 
died. 

"How  romantic — just  like  a  no  veil"  said 
Mabel. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  GIRLS  MEET  WITH  AN  ADVENTURE 

There  had  been  some  discussion  about  a 
name  for  the  camp.  William  and  Tom 
Jones  insisted  upon  a  name  which  meant 
something  to  their  ears,  at  least.  They  sug- 
gested Panther's  Lair,  Three  Bears  and 
The  Rattler's  Nest,  but  the  girls  expressed 
their  dislike  for  the  names  in  giving  forth 
little  affected  shrieks  of  horror. 

William  was  disgusted.  "I  suppose  you 
girls  would  like  to  have  it  called  Cosy-Cor- 
ners or  Rest-a-While-Lodge,  or  some  such 
lady-like  name!" 

"What  I  think  would  suit  them,"  said 
Tom  Jones  with  his  most  serious  air,  "  would 
be:  The  Tellers'  Camp,  The  Lodge  of  the 
Shivers,  or  The  Let-Me-Be,  or  The  Don't- 
You-Dare  Camp." 

163 


164  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

"It  would  make  you  yell,  Tom  Jones,  if 
some  one  dropped  a  snake  down  your 
back,"  cried  Isabelle. 

"But  it  wasn't  a  snake,  Isabelle.  It  was 
only  the  tendril  from  a  wild  grape  vine. 
I  told  you  what  it  was  the  moment  you 
began  to  yell,  but  yell  you  would,  and  all 
about  a  little  bit  of  a  vine — afraid  of  a 
vine!" 

"I  wasn't  afraid  of  the  vine!  I  knew 
it  wasn't  a  snake  after  you  told  me  so,  but 
it  was  the  idea.  Did  the  idea  of  something 
horrible  never  make  you  afraid?" 

"No,  nor  anything  else.  If  there  had 
been  a  wildcat  within  hearing  he  would 
have  turned  and  run  until  he  would  have 
dropped  in  his  tracks  from  weariness. " 

"There's  really  little  fun  going  into 
camp  with  girls,"  said  William,  "that  is, 
some  girls." 

"If  Isabelle  isn't  yelling,  Mabel  has  cold 
shivers,  or  Margery  is  reading  a  lecture  on 
Don'ts  and  Do's." 

"And  what  about  me?"  asked  Rhoda. 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  165 

" You '11  do,"  was  the  not  too  gracious  re- 
ply. " You're  just  as  afraid  as  the  other 
girls,  but  you've  got  enough  grit  not  to  let 
on." 

They  were  sitting  on  a  shelf  of  rock  some 
distance  from  the  cabin.  William  made 
his  little  speech  and  then  got  up  and  moved 
away  from  the  group.  He  made  a  wide  cir- 
cle so  as  to  come  up  back  of  the  girls.  Had 
they  not  been  so  interested  in  the  discussion 
of  the  camp  name  they  would  have  noticed 
his  actions  and  their  suspicions  would  have 
been  aroused. 

"I'm  not  afraid  of  anything  of  that  kind 
— snakes  and  bugs,"  said  Rhoda  decidedly. 

"I'm  not  afraid  either,"  said  Isabelle. 
"It  is  only  that  the  idea  is  so  horrible. 
When  I  even  think  of  snakes,  I  shudder, 
even  though  I'm  home,  cuddled  up  by  the 
fireplace  in  the  dead  of  winter.  It's  the 
idea  of — " 

She  ended  with  a  shriek,  and  sprang  into 
the  air.  The  other  girls  did  not  stop  to  in- 
quire the  cause  of  her  sudden  action,  but 


166  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

joined  their  voices  with  hers  and  raced 
after  her  across  the  narrow  footpath  lead- 
ing across  the  mountain.  After  them,  his 
face  fiendish  with  delight,  came  William, 
holding  in  his  hand  a  wriggling  gutta-percha 
snake  which  he  had  provided  before  leaving 
home.  He  ran  as  fast  as  his  legs  could 
carry  him,  and  the  girls  before  him,  crying, 
"He's  coming,  he's  coming!" 

Tom  Jones  stood  on  the  rocky  ledge  to 
watch,  them.  As  the  girls  scrambled  and 
tumbled  through  the  bushes,  he  bent  double 
in  the  excess  of  delight  and  shrieked  with 
laughter. 

Excited  and  panting  for  breath,  Mabel 
turned  down  a  side  path  and  Khoda  fol- 
lowed, but  Margery  and  Isabelle  did  not 
observe  their  course  and  plunged  on  down 
the  mountain  side. 

William,  whose  purpose  was  to  torment 
Rhoda,  since  she  had  been  such  a  braggart 
about  her  bravery,  followed  her  and  Mabel. 

Isabelle  and  Margery  ran  forward, 
screaming.  The  path  soon  ended  in  a  little 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  167 

thicket  of  trees,  and  into  this  the  girls 
plunged,  still  thinking  that  the  other  girls 
and  William  were  close  behind.  On  and  on 
they  ran  until  Margery  stumbled  and  fell 
from  exhaustion.  Isabelle  stopped  beside 
her. 

"I  don't  care,  let  him  come,  with  that 
snake!  He  wouldn't  dare  put  it  on  us. 
William  will  tease  but  he  wouldn't  go  so 
far  as  to  hurt  anyone." 

She  seated  herself  at  the  foot  of  a  great 
oak  and  rested  against  its  trunk.  Isabelle 
sank  down  beside  her,  turning  as  she  seated 
herself  to  look  back  the  way  by  which  they 
had  come. 

"I  did  not  think  we  were  so  far  ahead," 
she  panted.  "  Perhaps  Will  has  become 
tired  and  sat  down  to  rest." 

They  sat  until  they  had  recovered  their 
breath  and  were  ready  for  another  run,  all 
the  while  glancing  apprehensively  about 
them  lest  William  would  come  upon  them 
unawares  with  some  new  form  of  torment. 
But  he  did  not  appear  on  the  scene,  and 


168  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

after  being  thoroughly  rested,  the  girls 
arose  and  started  toward  the  camp.  They 
walked  at  a  rapid  gait,  expecting  Wil- 
liam to  pounce  out  upon  them  from  behind 
every  great  tree. 

Suddenly  Margery  stopped.  "We  didn't 
pass  that  spring  on  our  way  here,"  she  said. 
"Isabelle,  we're  lost!" 

"Oh,  nonsense!  How  do  you  know  what 
we  passed?  You  were  running  so  fast  and 
thinking  only  of  William.  We  might  have 
passed  a  dozen  springs  and  you  would  not 
have  noticed.  Come,  let  us  hurry  on.  We 
may  be  further  from  camp  than  we  think." 

She  increased  her  speed,  and  Margery  of 
necessity  followed.  Isabelle  was  not  a  little 
disturbed  about  Margery's  suggesting  that 
they  were  lost,  but  she  was  brave  enough 
to  keep  her  forebodings  to  herself. 

Suddenly  Margery  stopped  for  a  second 
time.  They  had  come  to  the  decayed  trunk 
of  an  oak  lying  across  their  path.  "I'm 
sure  we  never  clambered  over  that,  Isabelle. 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  169 

We're  lost!  I  was  sure  from  the  first  that 
we  were  lost." 

"We  can  turn  back  then  and  find  the 
right  way,"  was  the  answer  given  bravely 
as  she  faced  about.  "These  paths  lead 
somewhere,  and  we'll  be  sure  to  come  to 
civilization  if  we  keep  on." 

They  turned  and  walked  several  miles, 
each  with  the  hope  in  her  heart  that  the 
next  turn  of  the  road  might  bring  the  camp 
in  view.  They  were  well  tired  out  by  this 
time  and  very  hungry. 

"It  was  William's  fault,"  said  Isabelle. 
"If  he  wouldn't  have  tormented  us,  we 
wouldn't  be  here." 

"We  shouldn't  have  run,"  was  Mar- 
gery's reply.  William,  with  all  his  faults, 
in  her  eyes  could  do  no  wrong.  "If  we 
wouldn't  shriek  and  yell  so,  he  would  not 
enjoy  racing  us.  I  would  have  known  that 
it  was  only  a  gutta-percha  snake  if  I  had 
only  stopped  to  think." 

"Then  why  didn't  you  stop  to  think?" 


170  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

said  IsabeUe  tartly.  She  was  worn  out  in 
body  and  worried  in  mind,  and  it  was 
really  a  relief  to  put  the  blame  on  some  one. 
They  were  wandering  aimlessly  now,  peer- 
ing about  them  from  right  to  left,  afraid 
of  they  knew  not  what. 

"Do  you  think  there  might  be  bears- 
began  Margery,  looking  over  her  shoulder 
and  then  drawing  closer  to  Isabelle. 

"Margery  Houston,  don't  you  dare  men- 
tion bears  or  think  of  them,  either!  Wait 
until  we  get  back  to  camp.  I  have  enough 
on  my  mind  without  hunting  for  other  trou- 
bles. Here's  a  big  rock.  Let  us  rest  be- 
fore we  go  further." 

"I  wonder  what  time  it  is!"  said  Isa- 
belle. 

"It  must  be  almost  dinner  time.  I  no- 
ticed our  shadows  were  very  short  as  we 
stood  in  that  little  open  space." 

"They  will  be  ready  for  dinner  at 
camp,  and — "  Margery  began  but  was  un- 
able to  fininsh. 

"What  are  you  crying  about?    Because 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  171 

they  are  making  ready  for  dinner?  Well, 
I'm  glad  of  it!  Perhaps  they  will  ring  the 
bell  so  loud  that  we  will  hear  it,  and  if  we 
don't  come,  they'll  know  something  has 
happened,  and  will  come  and  look  for  us. 
I'm  glad  it  is  dinner  time.  We'll  be  found 
so  much  the  sooner." 

They  waited  but  no  sound  came  to  their 
ears.  Margery  would  have  wept  had  not 
Isabelle  prevented. 

"What  is  the  use  of  that,  Margery?  You 
will  not  see  me  cry  if  we  stay  out  all  night. 
They'll  find  us  some  time,  for  if  we  are 
not  home  soon  they  will  send  out  searching 
parties.  I'm  not  afraid  of  staying  lost;  but 
I'm  hungry.  I  wish  we  had  brought  a 
lunch  with  us." 

"But  we  didn't  intend  being  lost,"  was 
the  sage  rejoinder,  "so  how  could  we  have 
thought  to  bring  a  lunch?" 

"Let  us  shout,"  said  Isabelle  at  last. 
"Someone  may  be  quite  near  and  hear  us. 
Now,  ready,  both  together.  Cry  'we're 
lost.'  " 


172  SIXTY-FIVE  ONT  TIME 

They  raised  their  voices  and  shrieked 
aloud,  "We're  lost!  We're  lost!" 

But  no  answer  came.  Again  they 
shouted  with  the  same  result. 

"There  is  little  use  sitting  here.  Let  us 
start  to  walk  again,  '^suggested  Isabelle. 

Margery  was  in  such  a  state  of  mind  that 
she  could  not  object,  but  passively  followed. 
They  walked  slowly  now  for  their  limbs 
were  almost  too  weary  to  carry  them. 

"I  saw  someone  over  there  in  the  bushes," 
at  last  whispered  Margery,  clutching  Isa- 
belle by  the  arm.  l '  I  think  it 's  a  man,  but  it 
might  be  an  animal." 

"It  might  be  the  little  Jersey  cow  that  be- 
longs to  camp.  If  it  is,  we'll  start  her  to- 
ward home.  She'll  know  the  way  and  we'll 
follow.  I'll  look  in  there  and  see."  Part- 
ing the  underbrush,  she  left  the  cleared 
space  and  moved  toward  the  spot  Margery 
had  designated.  Margery  followed  close  at 
her  heels. 

"It's  a  man  picking  berries,"  said  Isa- 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  173 

belle.  "He  isn't  a  tramp  for  lie  is  well- 
dressed  and  he  has  a  bucket  and  tin  cup. 
Come  on!" 

She  came  quite  close  to  the  stranger  before 
he  heard  her.  Then  he  looked  up  and  smiled 
and  turned  his  attention  again  to  picking  the 
berries. 

"We're  lost,"  said  Isabelle.  "Could  you 
tell  us  how  to  reach  the  lumber  camp  at  the 
head  of  Paddy's  Run?" 

The  man  had  listened  as  she  talked  but 
made  no  attempt  to  answer. 

"We're  lost,"  she  said  with  more  decision 
in  her  voice.  "Will  you  tell  us  how  to  get 
back  to  camp  or  to  get  somewhere?" 

Again  came  the  peculiar  smile,  but  no 
words  in  reply. 

"Can't  you  hear?"  she  shouted  now  with 
all  the  strength  of  her  lungs.  1 1  We  're  lost — 
lost !  Can  you  hear  that  ?  We  want  to  go 
back  to  camp — the  lumber  camp.  We've 
wandered  about  since  eight  o'clock  this 
morning." 


174  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

At  the  mention  of  the  time,  the  man's  face 
changed.  It  was  as  though  a  ray  of  sun- 
shine had  fallen  over  a  shadowy  place. 

"I  wonder  why  Number  Ten  is  running 
late.  Yes,  IVe  orders  to  pull  out  in  a  few 
minutes.  There  she  goes  now!"  He 
raised  his  hand,  only  to  let  it  fall  again. 
The  baffled,  worried  look  came  for  the  in- 
stant to  his  eyes,  then  he  smiled  and  turned 
to  his  berry-picking.  At  his  first  word  the 
girls  had  clutched  each  other  tightly.  ' 1  He  7s 
crazy,"  whispered  Isabelle,  now  thoroughly 
frightened. 

* '  It 's  a  crazy  man.  This  is  worse  than  be- 
ing lost,"  cried  Margery,  making  no  effort 
to  keep  the  words  from  his  ears.  He  heard 
but  heeded  not ;  he  had  turned  to  his  task  of 
clearing  the  low  blue  huckleberry  vines. 

The  girls  were  too  frightened  to  move, 
but  stood  clutching  each  other  tightly  and 
watching  the  man  as  he  worked. 

As  they  stood  so,  the  branches  at  a  dis- 
tance parted  and  a  young  boy  came  into  the 
cleared  space.  He,  too,  had  been  picking 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  175 

berries  and  his  bucket  was  already  filled. 
He  paused  when  he  saw  the  girls. 

" What's  the  trouble?"  he  asked,  noticing 
their  fear. 

"The  man  has  frightened  us.  He's 
crazy,"  stammered  Isabelle,  too  frightened 
to  speak  plainly. 

The  face  of  the  boy  flushed.  "He's  not 
crazy, ' '  he  said.  1 1  He 's  had  an  accident — he 
isn't  well."  As  though  by  these  few  words 
he  had  broken  faith  with  his  father,  he  went 
up  to  him  and  touched  him  on  the  arm.  The 
man  looked  up  and  smiled. 

"I'd  sit  down  and  rest,  father.  You  must 
hav.e  been  busy.  Your  bucket  is  almost 
full." 

The  man  did  not  grasp  the  meaning  of 
the  words  but  he  recognized  the  tender  kind- 
liness of  the  voice,  and  he  patted  the  boy's 
hand  and  then  sat  down  as  he  was  told. 

"Ask  him  the  way,"  whispered  Margery. 

* '  How  did  you  come  here  9  I  didn  't  think 
there  was  anyone  for  miles  about." 

"We're  lost.    We  raced  away  this  morn- 


176  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

ing  from  the  lumber  camp.  We're  camping 
there  for  the  summer.  Can  you  show  us  the 
way  back?" 

"I  could  show  you  the  way  back,  but  I'm 
afraid  you  would  lose  it  again.  There's  not 
much  of  a  path." 

"How  do  you  know  the  way?  I  should 
think  you  would  get  lost. " 

"I'm  used  to  this  side  of  the  mountain. 
I've  wandered  over  it  ever  since  I've  been 
six  years  old.  My  father  and  I  will  go  back 
with  you  to  the  camp." 

"Are  we  far  from  there?" 

' '  Several  miles. ' '  He  turned  to  his  father. 
"We  are  going  to  walk  to  the  lumber  camp. 
Come,  father!"  and  the  father  smiled  and 
rose  to  obey  as  a  well-disciplined  child 
would  have  done. 

"Do  you  live  near  here?"  asked  Margery 
as  she  walked  by  the  side  of  Thomas. 

He  told  her  then  of  the  little  old  mill-house 
at  the  foot  of  the  hill.  Margery  remembered 
having  passed  it;  she  remembered  also  the 
frail  little  woman  who  sat  there  with  her 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  177 

head  bowed  upon  the  window-sill  that  day 
their  gay  party  had  driven  past.  The  child 
had  a  wild  imagination  with  a  highly  sensi- 
tive temperament  and  at  the  mention  of  the 
mill-house,  she  pictured  the  woman  weeping 
because  of  this  helpless  husband,  and  the  boy 
who  would  be  handicapped  all  his  life  be- 
cause of  this  trouble. 

The  father  with  his  bucket  of  berries  was 
walking  along  with  Isabelle.  She  had  re- 
gained her  courage  and  was  chattering 
briskly  and  asking  her  companion  innumera- 
ble questions  without  waiting  for  his  reply. 
It  was  with  a  feeling  of  relief  that  Margery 
heard  her  talking  lightly.  Her  face  showed 
her  thoughts,  and  Thomas  read  them  cor- 
rectly. 

" There  is  no  danger,"  he  said.  "My  fa- 
ther would  not  harm  anyone.  He  is  always 
kind  and  gentle  as  you  see  him  now." 

"Was  he — was  he — always  sick?"  She 
knew  not  what  else  to  call  his  condition. 
She  could  not  call  him  crazy  or  insane. 

"No;  he  was  hurt.    It  happened  when  I 

12 


178  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

was  just  a  little  boy."  It  was  odd  that  this 
retiring,  quiet  boy  would  speak  to  Margery 
as  he  did  on  matters  so  personal,  but  the 
two  were  alike,  and  in  meeting  her  he  met 
one  who  would  know  and  understand  as  no 
one  else,  perhaps.  He  told  her  of  the  old 
home,  the  father  as  he  had  been  and  his  first 
time  out  as  conductor.  Margery  listened 
and  said  when  he  had  finished,  "It  must  have 
been  very  sad,  but  of  course  it  all  has  hap- 
pened for  the  best." 

"I  don't  think  so,  and  my  mother  does  not 
think  so,"  was  the  reply.  "What  could  be 
better  than  a  good  home  and  a  father  as  my 
father  was?  He  meant  to  send  my  sister 
and  me  to  school.  I  was  to  be  a  doctor  and 
do  a  great  deal  of  good.  What  could  be  bet- 
ter than  that?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  she  said,  "but  that  is  be- 
cause I  am  ignorant.  But  my  mother  says 
that  all  things  happen  for  the  best  for  those 
who  would  serve  the  Lord.  When  you  are 
a  man  you  may  see  the  reason  which  no  one 
sees  now." 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  179 

"I  wish  I  could;  but  I  wish  most  of  all 
that  mother  would  think  as  you  do.  Then 
this  would  not  be  so  hard  for  her." 

Their  conversation  was  far  beyond  their 
years  for  Margery's  over-discipline  had 
given  her  a  serious  view  of  life,  and  Thomas 
had  been  forced  to  bear  responsibilities 
which  nature  meant  only  for  older  heads. 
When  the  story  had  been  finished,  they 
emerged  from  the  wood  to  a  clearer,  broader 
path. 

"We  are  not  far  from  camp.  We  go 
straight  up  the  mountain  now." 

They  had  not  gone  far  when  the  searching 
party  from  camp  met  them. 

"Why  didn't  you  come  back?  Your 
mother's  worried!"  said  Tom  Jones. 

"She  isn't  worried  any  more  than  we 
are!"  retorted  Isabelle.  "We  were  lost 
and  if  we  had  not  met  these  people  we 
wouldn't  have  been  here  now."  She 
turned  toward  Thomas  and  his  father;  but 
they  were  already  out  of  hearing,  making 
their  way  down  the  mountain  road. 


180  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

"Well,  it's  over  now,"  said  Margery, 
"and  we're  all  happy  again." 

"You  won't  be  happy  long,"  cried  Wil- 
liam, delighted  to  tease  her.  "Mother  had 
a  letter.  Suthern  came  up  with  provisions 
and  brought  the  mail.  There  was  a  letter 
from  Uncle  Doctor.  He's  coming  to  camp 
some  day  this  week." 

Margery's  countenance  fell.  "Why  are 
you  overjoyed,  William?  You  don't  like 
him  any  better  than  I  do." 

"One  thing,  if  he's  horrid,  we  can  stay 
away  from  the  camp.  We'll  go  in  only  to 
eat  and  to  sleep,"  said  Isabelle. 

"Marge,  you  promised  to  tell  us  what 
made  him  so  cranky,"  said  Ehoda. 

"I'll  tell  you  this  evening  when  we  sit 
around  the  campfire.  Oh,  I  am  hungry! 
Have  you  had  dinner?" 

"Yes,"  said  William  and  Thomas  to- 
gether. "But  we've  saved  a  lot  for  you." 

"It  will  be  good  and  hot.  Suthern 's 
keeping  up  the  fire,"  were  Rhoda's  en- 
couraging words. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  STORY  OF  UNCLE  DOCTOR 

Although  the  days  were  exceedingly  hot, 
the  nights  on  the  mountain  were  chilly. 
During  the  day,  Suthern,  the  colored  man, 
chopped  huge  limbs  from  the  trees  and  the 
boys  dragged  them  into  the  clearing,  ready 
for  the  campfire.  When  supper  was  over 
and  twilight  fell  the  fire  was  started.  The 
flames  lighted  up  the  open  space  and  played 
upon  the  side  of  the  camp.  These  were  the 
only  lights  permitted  and  when  the  larger 
pieces  of  wood  had  crumbled  into  ashes  and 
only  a  great  bed  of  hot  coals  remained,  the 
campers  drew  near  and  sat  or  curled  up  on 
the  rubber  blankets  beside  the  dying  embers. 
This  was  the  time  to  bake  potatoes  in  the 
fire  or  to  roast  corn  wrapped  in  its  many 
folds  of  husk.  It  was  the  time  for  ghost 
181 


182  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

and  fairy  tales,  and  stories  of  romance  and 
adventure,  for  the  world  about  seemed  more 
the  world  of  dream  and  fancy  than  aught 
else.  The  pines  stood  tall  and  straight  like 
soldiers  on  duty.  The  distance  was  only  a 
depth  of  uncertain  darkness  and  even  on 
still  nights  the  breezes  crooned  through  the 
trees. 

On  the  evening  following  the  girls'  ad- 
venture the  elder  members  of  the  party  had 
gathered  on  one  side  of  the  fire,  discussing 
matters  which  would  not  have  interested  the 
children  had  they  listened.  The  young  peo- 
ple, with  a  basket  of  potatoes  by  them,  sat 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  heap  of  wood, 
waiting  until  the  flames  died  down  before 
they  put  in  the  potatoes.  The  boys  were 
sprawled  out  on  their  backs,  relating  tales 
of  the  fish  and  the  hunt,  while  the  four  girls, 
forming  a  little  group  by  themselves,  were 
growing  impatient  with  the  flaming  fire. 

"While  wre're  waiting  for  the  ashes  to  be 
ready, "  said  Isabelle  so  low  that  the  others 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  183 

could  not  hear,  "tell  us  about  the  Uncle  Doc- 
tor." 

' '  I  will, ' '  said  Margery.  "  I  '11  start  from 
the  very  first." 

"Tell  it  like  a  story,"  added  Mabel. 
"Describe  the  hero  and  use  words  like  a 
novel.  It  will  be  so  romantic." 

Her  suggestion  was  in  harmony  with  the 
surroundings  and  the  feeling  of  the  little 
group  and  Margery  accepted  it. 

"Uncle  Doctor  is  my — " 

"Don't  begin  that  way,  Start  it,  'Once 
upon  a  time,'  and  make  it  horrible  if  you 
must  make  up  a  little  bit." 

"Once  upon  a  time  there  lived  a  beautiful 
young  girl  named  Susan  Brenhizer.  This 
girl  had  an  elder  brother  who  was  hand- 
some and  brilliant.  Oh  bother!  I  can't 
tell  it  that  way.  I  can't  make  it  a  bit  like  a 
book-story.  Susan  Brenhizer !  That  doesn  't 
sound  a  bit  like  a  novel.  I  must  tell  it  my 
own  way,  Mabel  Wade,  or  not  at  all." 

"Oh,  very  well!    If  you  can't,  you  can't 


184  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

and  nothing  more  need  be  said  about  it.  I 
suggested  that  way  because  I  thought  it 
would  sound  better.  But  go  on  as  you 
like." 

"Uncle  Doctor  is  mother's  brother.  He 
is  much  older  than  she  and  when  their  par- 
ents died  he  was  like  her  father.  She  would 
ask  permission  of  him  when  she  wished  to 
go  places,  and  he  always  gave  her  money  to 
spend,  just  like  a  father.  He  was  very  good 
to  her." 

"I  thought  you  said  he  was  horrible  and 
cranky!  It  don't  sound  much  like  it." 

"I'm  coming  to  that.  Mother  said  that 
he  cared  for  only  a  few  people  but  when  he 
cared,  he  cared  a  great  deal.  He  went  to 
college  and  then  to  a  medical  school.  When 
he  was  through  with  them  he  practiced  sev- 
eral years  but  he  was  never  satisfied.  He 
was  thinking  all  the  time  that  he  did  not 
know  enough.  When  he  could  not  make 
everyone  well,  he  worried  about  it.  So  one 
day  he  said  he  would  go  to  Germany  and 
stay  two  years  and  learn  how  to  be  a  sur- 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  185 

geon.  Mother  says  she  helped  him  get 
ready  and  packed  his  trunk.  She  wasn't 
very  old — only  twenty — and  then  she  went 
with  him  to  New  York  to  see  him  get  on 
the  ship.  And  when  they  reached  the  ship, 
something  happened." 

"What?"  It  was  Rhoda  who  was  sacri- 
legious' enough  to  ask  the  question.  The 
others  held  their  breath  in  anticipation. 

"  Crossing  the  gang-plank  before  him  was 
a  lady  and  her  daughter.  The  daughter 
was  very  beautiful.  Mother  says  she  no- 
ticed at  once  that  she  was  the  handsomest 
girl  on  board  the  ship.  Her  name  was 
Lelia  Mitchell.  Her  mother  was  ill  and 
they  were  going  to  Germany  to  visit  the 
salt-springs.  My  uncle  met  her  and  in-  six 
months  she  was  my  Aunt  Lelia." 

'  *  How  could  she  be  your  aunt  ?  You  were 
not  born  then." 

"You  know  what  I  mean,  Rhoda.  She  was 
then  ready  to  be  my  aunt  when  I  was  born ; 
but  I  did  not  come  for  a  great  many  years 
afterward.  They  were  in  Germany  two 


186  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

years  and  when  they  came  home  they  had 
a  dear  little  baby  boy.  They  had  not  told 
my  mother  one  word  about  it,  and  when  she 
went  to  the  door,  there  was  her  new  sister 
and  a  nurse-maid  with  a  dear  little  baby. 
That  was  my  Cousin  Henry,  although  they 
called  him  Harry,  for  everyone  called  my 
uncle,  Henry.  It  would  have  been  confus- 
ing to  have  called  them  by  the  same  name. 

Cousin  Harry  was  like  his  father.  When 
he  was  just  a  little  boy  he  knew  the  names 
of  the  bones.  Mother  says  he  would  go  into 
the  study  and  open  the  case  which  held  the 
skeleton  and  ask  the  names  of  the  bones  and 
so  he  learned  them  all. 

Mother  says  that  Uncle  Henry  was  al- 
ways laughing  or  smiling.  He  is  a  great 
big  man  and  if  he'd  smile  now  he  would  be 
very  handsome — but  he  won't  smile.  He's 
what  you'd  call  glum.  But  at  first  he  was 
just  lovely.  Mother  says  all  his  patients 
loved  to  have  him  visit  them  for  he  cheered 
them  up,  and  joked  and  laughed  until  they 
almost  forgot  that  they  were  ill. 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  187 

When  my  Uncle  Henry  saw  that  Cousin 
Harry  was  so  bright  about  books  and  liked 
to  study  bones,  he  said  he  would  make  a 
doctor  of  him.  So  Uncle  Henry  sent  him 
to  a  school  and  he  and  Aunt  Lelia  saved 
money  so  he  could  go  to  Germany. 

Cousin  Harry  was  not  like  many  boys 
whose  fathers  give  them  money  and  never 
ask  how  they  spend  it.  Mother  says  he  was 
a  very  careful  boy  and  studied  hard  at  his 
books.  He  graduated  summa  cum  laude, 
whatever  that  means.  It  is  something  very 
fine." 

"I  don't  see  that  your  uncle  had  anything 
to  be  grumpy  about, "  interposed  Rhoda. 
"He  must  have  just  naturally  been  cranky 
and  that  makes  him  act  so." 

"Will  you  wait  until  I  finish  my  story, 
Khoda  Gardner?  I  cannot  tell  the  end  of 
the  story  until  I  finish  the  beginning  and  the 
middle." 

"She  must  work  up  to  the  climax,"  said 
Mabel  as  one  who  was  authority  on  all 
things  literary.  "It  would  be  a  queer  kind 


188  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

of  story  if  you'd  tell  the  secret  right  at  the 
beginning." 

"He  was  graduated  summa  cum  laude,  as 
I  have  said,  and  then  went  off:  to  Germany. 
He  studied  very  hard  while  he  was  there, 
but  it  really  was  not  work  for  him,  for  he 
loved  books  and  study.  But  after  he  was 
there  a  while  he  made  friends  with  some 
young  men  and  then  he  began  to  drink  a  lit- 
tle and  then  a  little  more,  and  after  awhile 
he  gambled."  Margery's  voice  grew  low  as 
she  spoke  of  these  dreadful  acts  of  her 
cousin.  The  other  girls  listened  eagerly. 

"And  all  the  while  Uncle  Henry  was  send- 
ing him  money  and  waiting  anxiously  for 
the  time  when  Harry  would  come  home  and 
they  would  work  together.  But  about  the 
time  he  was  expected  from  Germany,  Aunt 
Lelia  died.  You  can  imagine  how  my 
Uncle  Henry  felt,  for  Auntie  was  one  of  the 
few  people  he  dearly  loved.  I  remember 
when  Auntie  died,  although  I  couldn't  have 
been  more  than  five  years  old.  Uncle  looked 
dreadful  and  mother  was  almost  as  bad  for 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  189 

she  loved  Aunt  Lelia  and  she  felt  very  sorry 
for  Uncle  Henry.  When  he  spoke  to 
mother  about  missing  Auntie,  he  said  he 
would  not  try  to  live  was  it  not  for  his  son. 
"But  I  have  a  boy  to  live  for,"  he  said  to 
mother. 

"Then  Cousin  Harry  came  home  and  was 
a  physician  and  had  his  office  with  his 
father.  Uncle  Henry  did  not  mean  to  work 
hard ;  he  planned  just  to  help  Cousin  Harry. 
But  Harry  was  home  just  a  little  while 
when  Uncle  suspected  that  he  was  not  act- 
ing right.  He  was  so  heartbroken  that  he 
did  not  know  what  to  do.  Then  one  day  a 
dreadful  accident  happened  and  they  sent 
for  Cousin  Harry.  His  father  telephoned 
and  sent  everywhere  for  him,  but  couldn't 
find  him,  and  where  do  you  think  he  was?" 

"Dead,"  said  Rhoda. 

"In  jail,"  said  Mabel,  to  whom  death 
would  not  have  been  a  mystery  but  a  key 
to  a  difficult  solution. 

"Neither!  He  was  in  a  gambling  den, 
spending  all  his  money!  He  came  home 


190  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

while  Uncle  Henry  was  searching  for  him. 
When  Uncle  Henry  came  back,  Harry  was 
gone;  but  Uncle  knew  he  had  been  there. 
He  had  taken  out  Uncle's  check  book  and 
written  a  check  with  Uncle's  name." 

" That's  forgery,"  said  the  matter-of-fact 
Bhoda.  "He  could  have  been  sent  to  jail 
for  that.  I  read  of  a  man  who  was." 

"But  Cousin  Harry  was  not  sent  to  jail. 
He  could  not  be  found  that  day  or  the  next 
or  afterward.  Uncle  stopped  the  check  and 
settled  it  all.  He  meant  to  forgive  Harry 
when  he  came  back  and  have  him  behave 
and  start  over  again,  but  he  never  came 
back. 

"But  later  my  Uncle  discovered  that  writ- 
ing the  check  was  not  the  only  thing  Harry 
did.  He  had  taken  every  one  of  Aunt 
Lelia's  jewels,  even  the  ring  that  Uncle 
Henry  gave  her  when  she  said  she  would 
marry  him.  He  took  them  all.  Uncle 
Henry  thinks  he  must  have  sold  them  that 
he  might  gamble  with  the  money.  He  did 
not  try  to  trace  them,  but  he  declared  then 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  191 

he  would  never  forgive  Harry  if  he  came 
back.  He  would  have  forgiven  him  any- 
thing but  selling  what  had  belonged  to  his 
mother." 

"Did  he  never  come  back?" 

"Never!  Uncle  always  talks  as  though 
he  never  had  had  a  son.  You  would  think 
that  such  a  person  as  Cousin  Harry  had 
never  lived.  But  from  that  time  he  never 
went  anywhere  except  to  the  Sanatorium. 
He  had  to  go  there  because  there  was  no  one 
else  to  perform  the  dreadful  operations. 
When  he  comes  to  our  house,  he  never 
speaks  to  us  children  unless  it  is  to  tell  us 
to  keep  quiet.  He  never  smiles  and  the 
only  person  he  ever  cares  to  talk  to  is  my 
mother.  But  she  will  not  let  him  be  glum 
with  her.  She  makes  him  talk  whether  he 
wishes  to  or  not  and  she  asks  him  questions 
which  he  has  to  answer." 

A  little  sigh  of  satisfaction  passed  over 
the  group.  They  loved  romance,  and  this 
came  home  to  them. 

"It  doesn't  end  just  right,"  said  Isabelle 


192  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

after  a  moment's  thought.  "I  like  stories 
that  end  happily.  I  want  them  to  be  happy 
ever  afterward." 

" Perhaps  the  end  has  not  come  yet,"  said 
Mabel.  "We  don't  know  what  may  hap- 
pen. Perhaps  Harry  is  dead — perhaps  he 
died  sorry  for  what  he  done,  and  perhaps 
he  is  alive  and  will  come  home  some  day 
and  then  his  father  and  he  will  be  happy." 

Margery  shook  her  head.  "It  will  never 
end  happily.  It  will  not  matter  whether  my 
Cousin  Harry  comes  back  or  not,  for  Uncle 
Henry  will  never  forgive  him." 

"It  sounds  like  a  novel.  It  certainly  is 
very  romantic,"  said  Mabel. 

Just  then  an  owl  hooted  afar  off  in  the 
wood  and  the  echoes  answered  him.  The 
sound  was  weird  and  uncanny  and  the  girls 
glanced  apprehensively  behind  them.  The 
mountains  dark,  sullen  and  foreboding,  sug- 
gested horrible  possibilities. 

"We  might  have  been  out  in  that  all 
night,"  whispered  Isabelle,  "if  that  boy 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  193 


and  his  father  had  not  showed  the  road  to 


us.': 


"And  we  never  stopped  to  thank  them! 
But  yet  it  was  scarcely  our  fault,  for  they 
were  off  down  the  road  before  I  knew  they 
had  left  us.  But  we  must  thank  them." 

"We  might  go  down  to  the  mill-house  to- 
morrow," said  Mabel.  "I  noticed  when  we 
passed  there  what  a  romantic  looking  place 
it  was.  I  should  like  to  meet  the  people.  I 
shouldn't  be  afraid  although  Isabelle  says 
the  man  is  crazy." 

"He  isn't  crazy!"  cried  Margery  stoutly. 
"Once  he  was  a  very  'bright  man  and 
worked  and  had  a  beautiful  home  and  then 
something  happened."  She  proceeded  to 
tell  them  the  story  as  Thomas  had  related  it 
to  her;  but  she  embellished  the  facts  with 
coloring  from  her  own  imagination  until 
Jim  Crissman  appeared  to  them  like  the 
prince  of  a  fairy  tale. 

The  story  made  Mabel  more  decided 
about  visiting  the  mill-house. 


13 


194  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

"You  girls  should  call,"  she  said.  "It's 
the  only  proper  thing  to  do,  and  Rhoda  and 
I  shall  go  with  you.  We'll  walk  down 
early  in  the  morning  and  ride  back  with 
your  Uncle  Doctor." 

1  i  We  '11  walk  back, ' '  said  Margery.  * l  You 
do  not  know  Uncle  Doctor  or  you  wouldn't 
have  suggested  riding  back  with  him." 
She  raised  her  voice  to  address  her  mother. 
"May  we  walk  to  the  mill-house  to-morrow 
and  may  I  ask  that  boy  and  his  sister  to 
visit  us  here?" 

"Do  just  as  you  please,"  said  Mrs.  Hous- 
ton. "But  I'm  thinking  that  if  you  do  not 
fix  up  the  embers  and  put  in  your  potatoes 
they  will  not  be  roasted  before  bed-time." 

The  girls  acted  on  her  suggestion.  With 
sharpened  sticks  they  dug  little  nests  in  the 
hot  ashes,  then  laying  the  potatoes  in,  cov- 
ered them  over  with  ashes. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  NEW  GUEST 

The  girls  from  the  camp  arose  early  the 
next  morning  and  went  down  the  lumber 
road.  They  found  the  mill-house  looking 
like  a  bit  from  a  beautiful  painting,  for  the 
woodbine  had  covered  the  rough  walls  and 
twined  about  the  porch. 

Alice  was  within  the  kitchen  making  prep- 
arations for  dinner.  Her  husband  sat  be- 
side her  and  she  talked  to  him  as  though  he 
knew  and  understood.  Her  love  for  him 
had  reached  out  beyond  the  world  of  mind 
and  matter  and  was  keeping  him  in  closer 
touch  with  those  of  normal  mind  than  any 
medical  science  could  have  done. 

Thomas  and  Laura  were  at  work  in  the 
garden,  tying  up  tomato  stalks  and  trans- 
planting the  small  lettuce  plants.  Laura's 
195 


196  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

face  lighted  up  with  joy  when  she  saw  the 
girls  enter  the  gate.  She  had  never  had 
visitors  of  her  own  age — indeed  visitors  of 
any  age  were  infrequent  at  the  mill-house. 
She  did  not  wait  to  greet  them,  but  ran  into 
the  kitchen  as  fast  as  her  feet  could  carry 
her,  her  eyes  glowing  with  pleasure  and  the 
flush  brought  by  the  unusual  experience 
upon  her  cheeks. 

"There  are  girls  coming,  mother!  The 
girls  from  the  lumber  camp  are  coming  into 
the  yard!  Ask  them  to  stay,  mother,"  and 
she  was  out  again  before  Mrs.  Crissman  had 
time  to  answer. 

Thomas  had  stood  shyly  at  his  work  until 
Ms  visitors  came  to  him. 

"You  hurried  away  so  quickly  yester- 
day," said  Margery,  as  she  came  within 
speaking  distance,  "that  we  had  no  time  to 
thank  you.  We  came  down  this  morning  to 
tell  you  that  we're  very  grateful." 

"It  was  nothing.  I  chanced  to  be  in  the 
woods.  I  really  did  nothing." 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  197 

"You  walked  several  miles  from  your 
way.  Isn  't  that  something  ? ' ' 

Before  he  could  answer,  his  mother  came 
from  the  house.  She  was  dressed  in  her 
simple  frock  of  dark  percale  with  a  bit  of 
white  about  the  throat,  and  her  great  mass 
of  hair,  in  which  the  white  was  beginning  to 
show,  was  coiled  about  her  head  as  tastefully 
as  though  she  lived  a  happy,  joyous  life  in 
the  midst  of  many  friends.  Her  lips  were 
smiling  but  her  eyes  had  in  them  the  ex- 
pression of  suffering  and  the  experience  of 
the  past  seven  years  had  marked  her 
face  with  peculiar  lines.  But  she  smiled 
brightly  as  she  greeted  the  girls. 

Margery  gave  a  sigh  of  relief.  She  had 
pictured  this  Mrs.  Crissman  as  a  woman 
with  tearful  eyes  and  sorrowful  counte- 
nance. 

"Come,  sit  here  on  the  porch, "  she  said. 
"You  must  wish  to  rest  after  your  long 
walk." 

The  girls  accepted  the  invitation  without 


198  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

a  word.  They  had  listened  to  Margery's 
story  of  the  boy  and  the  strange  man  in  the 
woods  and  they  could  not  associate  the 
woman  with  such  conditions  of  life. 

Her  husband  came  and  sat  beside  her  on 
the  porch  and  as  she  talked  with  them,  he 
rested  his  hand  upon  hers  and  smiled  up  at 
her  as  a  fond  child  smiles  at  its  mother. 

Laura  was  shy  of  strangers,  but  she  was 
happy  that  they  had  come  to  visit  at  the  mill- 
house.  She  hung  over  the  back  of  her 
mother's  chair  and  when  an  opportunity 
presented  itself  she  whispered  audibly, 
" Mother,  ask  them  to  stay  all  day." 

At  length  the  mother  answered  her,  "  Yes, 
Laura,  I  shall  ask  the  girls  to  stay  until  aft- 
ernoon." She  smiled  at  her  visitors  as  she 
added,  "  Will  you  stay  with  us  ?  We  seldom 
have  visitors.  Laura  and  Thomas  would  be 
happy  to  have  you." 

"Yes,  we  shall  stay,"  Margery  answered 
for  all.  "The  wagon  will  come  from  town 
about  four  o'clock  and  we  can  go  up  on  that. 
My  uncle,  Doctor  Brenhizer,  from  Dixmont, 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  199 

is  going  to  camp  to  spend  a  week  or  more 
with  us.  We—" 

"Look!  Something  is  the  matter!"  ex- 
claimed Rhoda. 

But  Thomas  was  already  by  his  father's 
side  and  Alice  turned  to  grasp  both  the  man's 
hands  within  her  own. 

"What  is  it,  Jim?    What  is  it?" 

The  old  hunted  expression  had  come  back 
to  his  eyes.  His  lips  were  trembling  in  an 
excess  of  emotion  of  some  kind ;  great  beads 
of  sweat  stood  upon  his  forehead.  Some 
portion  of  his  brain  was  making  a  superhu- 
man effort  to  conquer  and  control  that  which 
had  been  inactive  for  so  long. 

"Jim,  what  is  it?  Tell  Allie!  You're 
not  afraid  to  tell  Allie,  Jim !  That 's  good ! ' ' 
She  patted  his  hands  and  wiped  the  sweat 
from  his  brow.  He  drew  one  long  breath 
and  threw  out  his  arms,  as  one  would  do  who 
was  about  to  free  himself  from  heavy  bonds. 

"You  know.  I  said  I  would  tell  him. 
Telluride,  Mexico,  that's  the  place.  Poor 
boy!  It  made  me  sick  at  heart  to  see  him. 


200  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

One  misstep  and  his  life  not  worth  that!" 
He  snapped  his  finger.  His  voice  had  been 
calm,  but  now  it  ran  the  scale  and  hung  sus- 
pended on  the  highest  note.  "What  was  it 
I  said  I'd  do?  Tell  me!  It  was — it  was — 
tell  me!" 

"Yes,  Jim,  I'll  tell  you  after  while.  Let 
us  not  think  about  it  now.  Look  at  the  wild 
flowers  that  Laura  picked  yesterday. 
Laura,  bring  your  flowers  here."  She  took 
the  flowers  from  the  child's  hand  and  held 
them  up  to  her  husband. 

"See  how  pretty,  Jim." 

He  took  them  from  her  hand  and  looked 
at  them,  and  then  back  to  her  again  with  a 
smile.  His  strange  mood  had  passed.  He 
was  as  a  child  again. 

Thomas  was  troubled.  He  feared  such 
spells.  He  had  read  and  heard  of  insane 
people,  and  he  dreaded  lest  his  father's  mis- 
fortune should  take  such  a  turn. 

But  Alice  viewed  the  matter  in  a  different 
light.  She  believed  that  her  husband 's  mind 
was  making  an  effort  to  regain  its  old  power. 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  201 

Hope  was  renewed  within  her.  Something 
had  touched  old  memories  and  had  roused 
them  into  partial  life  and  perhaps  if  that 
something  were  again  and  again  brought  be- 
fore him,  the  conscious  periods  would  be- 
come active  and  permanent.  Jealous  of  all 
that  was  for  his  good,  her  mind  worked 
quickly.  In  an  instant  she  rehearsed  each 
incident  of  the  day  which  had  not  been  simi- 
lar to  that  of  many  previous  days.  Never 
since  Jim's  illness  had  she  had  young  girls 
to  her  house.  It  must  have  been  either  they 
or  their  conversation  which  had  partly  re- 
called him.  She  would  watch  and  be  quite 
sure. 

When  he  was  quite  himself  again,  the  girls 
arose.  Margery's  eyes  were  big  with  feel- 
ing. " Perhaps  we  had  better  go,"  she  said, 
turning  toward  Thomas.  "We  may  have 
worried  your  father  and  we  would  not  like  to 
do  that." 

"Perhaps  so,"  he  said.  "I  never  knew 
him  to  talk  like  that  before." 

At  this  Alice  turned  quickly.    "Don't  go! 


202  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

Please  don't  go!"  Her  voice  had  a  plead- 
ing tone  in  it  which  could  not  be  resisted. 
"I  wish  you  to  stay." 

"I  was  afraid  we  had  worried  him." 

"If  you  have,  it  is  the  kind  of  worry  that 
will  help."  She  had  regained  her  usual 
composure.  "It  is  almost  dinner  time. 
You  young  people  amuse  each  other  and  I 
will  attend  to  getting  dinner."  She  left 
them  and  went  into  the  house  and  a  few  min- 
utes later  the  little  group  on  the  porch  heard 
her  singing  gayly. 

At  the  sound  of  his  mother's  voice  raised 
in  song  Thomas  was  relieved.  Perhaps, 
after  all,  this  sudden  change  in  his  father 
meant  good  instead  of  otherwise.  His  bur- 
den of  care  fell  from  his  shoulders. 

"Come,  let  us  show  you  our  garden,"  he 
said.  "Laura  and  I  did  all  the  planting. 
Father  spaded  for  us. ' ' 

In  an  instant  the  girls  were  from  the 
porch  and  hurrying  down  the  garden  walk. 
They  had  been  born  and  bred  in  the  city  and 
gardens  were  new  to  them.  They  examined 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  203 

each  separate  plant,  exclaimed  over  the  size 
of  onions  and  lettuce  and  grew  eloquent 
upon  the  silken  tassels  of  the  corn.  When 
each  plant  had  been  looked  over  and  criti- 
cized, Rhoda  sat  down  under  the  shade  of  the 
old  forest  chestnut  tree  which  stood  at  the 
end  of  the  yard. 

"I  did  not  know  how  tired  I  was,"  she 
said.  "Let  us  sit  here  and  talk  until  dinner 
time.  If  we  don't  rest,  we'll  be  too  tired  to 
ride  home." 

They  seated  themselves  about  her.  Mar- 
gery was  the  only  quiet  one  among  them. 

Rhoda  rallied  her:  "A  penny  for  your 
thoughts,  Marge!" 

"Perhaps  they  are  not  worth  that  much. 
I'm  just  a  little  worried.  I'm  afraid  I  said 
something  that  excited  Mr.  Crissman.  The 
only  thing  I  said  was  that  Uncle  Doctor  was 
coming." 

"It  wasn't  what  you  said,"  said  Thomas. 
"He  may  not  have  heard  a  word.  He  may 
have  been  thinking  very  hard  and  part  of 
something  came  back  to  him." 


204  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

"Have  you  always  lived  at  the  mill- 
house?'*  asked  Rhoda.  She  was  not  of  an 
emotional  temperament  and  did  not  relish 
a  tale  of  woe  or  sentiment,  so  she  tried  to 
stem  both  by  turning  the  conversation  by  her 
question. 

"No,  not  always,"  replied  Thomas,  not 
caring  to  go  into  details  concerning  their  for- 
mer home,  for  he  was  conservative  by  nature. 
But  Laura  was  different.  Her  face  lighted 
up  and  she  began  at  once  the  story  of  the 
former  home  in  town.  She  could  not  re- 
member having  lived  there  and  she  had  seen 
it  but  once  since  they  had  moved  from  it,  but 
her  imagination  stood  her  in  good  need.  She 
told  the  story  as  it  was  and  yet  wove  about 
it  a  golden  haze  of  fancy  and  uncertainty. 
Her  listeners  were  spellbound,  they  were 
having  fairy  tale  and  romance  at  first  hand, 
and  they  revelled  in  it. 

Laura  did  not  forget  the  story  of  the  little 
tin  box.  Under  the  magic  of  her  imagina- 
tion it  became  a  thing  of  great  importance 
and  as  worthy  of  search  as  the  Holy  Grail. 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  205 

When  she  finished,  the  silence  was  un- 
broken for  several  seconds.  Then  Margery 
spoke  seriously  and  in  great  good  faith,  for 
she  yet  believed  in  charms  and  fairyland. 
"  While  you  were  talking,  I  found  a  four- 
leaved  clover.  You  know  what  that  means  ? ' ' 

Laura  shook  her  head  in  negation.  "No, 
I  don't" 

"It's  good  luck.  Whenever  you  pick  a 
four-leaved  clover,  you  must  put  it  in  the 
heel  of  your  left  shoe,  and  make  a  wish,  and 
before  the  moon  changes,  your  wish  will 
come  true." 

"Keally?"  Laura's  eyes  grew  big  and 
bright.  "I  wish  I'd  known  that  before. 
I've  often  seen  them." 

"  It 's  true.  There 's  a  song  about  the  four 
leaves,"  Rhoda  declared.  "It  goes  some- 
thing like  this : 

"One  is  for  faith, 

And  one  is  for  hope, 

And  one  is  for  love,  I  know. 

Then  God  put  the  fourth  one  in  for  luck, 

So  search  where  the  four  leaves  grow." 


206  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

"IVe  saved  this  for  you,  Laura,"  said 
Margery  earnestly.  "Pick  it,  and  wish  that 
your  father  could  be  cured.  It  will  come 
true." 

"I  don't  believe  it!"  said  Thomas. 
"Don't  do  it,  Laura.  You  will  only  be  dis- 
appointed. Then  you'll  feel  worse  than 
ever.  The  doctors  have  said  time  and  time 
again  that  nothing  could  help  him." 

' '  It  will  not  hurt  to  try, ' '  said  Laura.  ' '  I 
shall  not  be  disappointed  if  it  does  not  come 
true.  Doctors  do  not  always  know  things. 
Sometimes  things  happen  through  luck," 
and  she  tucked  the  clover  in  her  shoe  and 
made  the  wish.  ' '  Now  we  '11  see  who  is  right, 
Thomas.  It  won't  be  long  until  there's  a 
new  moon." 

At  this  point  the  conversation  was  inter- 
rupted by  the  summons  to  dinner.  When 
the  meal  was  finished,  Alice  took  her  hus- 
band by  the  hand  and  went  out  with  the  chil- 
dren to  the  shade  of  the  forest  trees.  She 
encouraged  Margery  to  talk  of  matters  of 
the  home  and  the  camp,  and  all  the  while  she 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  207 

watched  her  husband  to  see  if  he  heard  or 
heeded  what  was  said.  But  he  sat  as  he 
ever  did,  smiling  upon  them  when  his  glance 
met  theirs  or  when  Alice  spoke  directly  to 
him. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  they 
heard  the  whistle  of  the  train  in  the  distance. 

"That  means  we  must  soon  start  home," 
said  Rhoda. 

'  l  Not  for  some  time.  They  must  drive  for 
several  miles  from  the  station  here,"  said 
Mrs.  Crissman.  "We  can  stop  the  wagon 
as  they  pass  the  door." 

"Mother  gave  me  permission  to  ask 
Thomas  and  Laura  to  the  camp, ' '  said  Mar- 
gery. "May  they  come?"  She  hesitated 
but  a  second  and  added,  "and  bring  their 
father  with  them  ? ' ' 

She  was  surprised  with  what  quickness 
Mrs.  Crissman  accepted  the  invitation.  She 
could  not  read  the  elder  woman's  mind  and 
know  the  hope  that  their  presence  had  fos- 
tered in  her. 

"There  are  the  wheels!"  cried  Rhoda, 


208  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

springing  up.  "Listen  to  them  creaking! 
Suthern  must  have  found  an  old  ice-wagon 
to  drive.  Did  you  ever  hear  such  a  noise  1" 

She  moved  toward  the  gate.  The  others 
followed.  As  Suthern  turned  the  curve  they 
signalled  him  to  stop.  The  one  passenger  in 
the  light  wagon  was  a  man  far  past  middle 
age,  portly  of  figure,  and  stern  of  face.  He 
had  planted  his  cane  firmly  upon  the  floor 
of  the  wagon,  and  was  leaning  heavily  upon 
it.  He  gave  a  sudden  start  when  Suthern 
stopped  the  horses,  looked  quickly  about  him 
to  see  the  reason  for  this,  saw  the  children, 
and  without  a  word  of  greeting,  resumed  his 
position. 

The  people  of  the  mill-house  came  close  to 
the  wagon,  and  the  girls  clambered  in  as 
well  as  they  could  without  assistance,  for 
Suthern  was  needed  at  the  reins.  Amid  the 
chatter  and  laughter,  the  good-byes,  and 
s  promises  of  a  return  visit,  the  father  leaned 
forward  suddenly,  and  grasping  Doctor 
Brenhizer  by  the  arm,  tried  to  speak.  His 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  209 

face  twitched;  his  mind  made  a  desperate 
struggle  to  emerge  from  the  darkness  which 
surrounded  it.  At  last  he  jerked  out  a  few 
disconnected,  meaningless  words. 

"Old  bones — the  case — old  bones.  'You 
know!  What  must  I  tell  you?  Bones — 
bones — " 

"  Drive  on,  Suthern,"  said  Dr.  Brenhizer, 
pushing  the  man 's  hand  from  his  arm.  Then 
he  added,  as  though  to  himself,  "The  man 
is  crazy.  Shouldn't  be  let  loose.  He'll 
harm  someone." 

The  drive  up  the  mountain  was  an  unusu- 
ally quiet  one.  The  girls  sat  flat  on  the  bot- 
tom of  the  spring  wagon  and  were  jolted 
about  from  side  to  side  whenever  the  wheels 
struck  a  stone.  Under  ordinary  circumstan- 
ces they  would  have  expressed  themselves 
audibly.  But  now  with  Uncle  Doctor  before 
them,  they  kept  silent,  expressing  their  dis- 
pleasure with  grimaces  and  muscular  con- 
tortions. 

Margery  alone  appeared  unconscious  of 


14 


210  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

jolts  and  bumps.  A  new  idea  had  come  to 
her,  and  her  mind  was  engrossed  in  forming 
plans  in  which  she  meant  her  grim  uncle  to 
take  an  active  part. 


CHAPTER  VI 

MARGERY  WAGES  WAR  WITH  UNCLE  DOCTOR 

The  children  of  the  camp  were  impressed 
by  the  presence  of  the  grim,  silent  man,  who 
had  no  word  for  anyone.  When  they 
laughed  heartily,  or  carried  on  a  discussion, 
all  speaking  at  once,  and  with  the  full  power 
of  their  lungs,  he  gave  them  a  look  so  severe 
that  they  became  still  as  mice,  and  scampered 
away  beyond  his  ken. 

But  for  the  greater  part  of  the  day,  he 
was  absorbed  in  his  own  work,  and  paid  at- 
tention to  nothing  else.  But  even  this  had 
the  effect  of  suppressing  the  joyous  spirits 
of  the  young  people,  to  whom  Uncle  Doctor's 
work  was  gruesome.  Each  evening  at  dusk 
he  walked  a  short  distance  into  the  woods, 
where  he  set  traps  for  any  animal  which 
could  be  caught.  The  first  morning  he  came 
211 


212          .    SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

in  with  several  jack-rabbits  and  one  tremb- 
ling chipmunk.  These  he  penned  up  and  fed 
on  a  special  diet  for  several  days.  So  far 
the  children  looked  on  and  enjoyed  his 
science.  But  when  he  fed  poison  to  the  big- 
gest rabbit  and  stood  by  watching  it  suffer, 
before  he  administered  an  antidote,  they 
were  ready  for  revolution.  It  was  nothing 
to  them  that  he  counted  the  experiment  a 
great  success,  and  took  down  notes  in  his 
tablet  which  later  would  add  to  the  skill  of 
the  medical  fraternity.  But  it  was  even 
worse  when  he  took  the  chipmunk,  his  case 
of  knives,  and  bottles  of  ether  far  into  the 
woods  and  worked  alone.  He  brought  the 
poor  little  animal  back  with  its  head  ban- 
daged as  carefully  as  though  it  were  a  per- 
son. Although  he  made  it  a  bed  of  soft 
cotton,  and  kept  the  bandages  moist  with 
medicine,  and  fed  it  several  times  a  day  with 
ground  nuts,  and  bread  moistened  in  milk, 
the  children  could  not  forgive  him.  They 
gave  him  and  his  experiments  a  wide  berth. 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  213 

Whole  days  passed  without  their  being  in 
his  presence.  Gradually  it  became  the  cus- 
tom that  the  younger  people  sat  at  the  table 
alone  for  their  meals.  Mrs.  Houston  waited 
for  Uncle  Doctor  and  ate  with  him.  She 
did  not  mind  his  taciturn,  gloomy  words  and 
talked  to  him  in  her  sharp,  keen  way  and 
forced  him  to  reply  to  her.  His  sister  knew 
and  appreciated  him  as  no  one  else  could  do 
and  she  was  like  him,  in  that  she  loved  few 
people,  but  loved  them  intensely.  She  knew 
what  had  gone  from  his  life  with  both  wife 
and  son.  It  made  it  harder  for  him  that  he 
could  speak  of  them  to  no  one,  not  even  his 
sister.  He  kept  the  sorrow  and  shame 
walled  up  in  his  own  heart  and  gave  himself 
to  scientific  work  as  though  that  was  all  life 
could  hold  for  him. 

Sometimes  when  he  worked  alone,  experi- 
menting with  operations  upon  the  different 
animals,  the  grim,  hard  look  left  his  face, 
and  he  became  only  a  broken-hearted,  brok- 
en-spirited man.  No  one  seeing  him  then 


214  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

could  have  feared  him.  Only  pity  could 
have  filled  the  heart  at  the  sight  of  this 
crushed,  subdued  old  man. 

Thomas  and  Laura,  with  their  father,  vis- 
ited the  camp  the  day  following  that  on 
which  the  girls  had  been  guests  at  the  mill- 
house.  Alice  had  sent  them  forth  with  fear 
and  hope  struggling  for  supremacy.  Yet 
nothing  out  of  the  ordinary  had  taken  place. 
Dr.  Brenhizer  had  not  been  near  the  camp, 
being  interested  in  his  work  in  the  depth  of 
the  woods. 

Several  days  passed  before  Alice  again 
suggested  to  Thomas  that  the  three  should 
walk  up  to  the  lumber  camp.  Seven  years 
with  their  innumerable  disappointments  had 
not  robbed  her  of  hope.  She  watched  the 
three  set  forth,  Laura  dancing  along  as  airy 
and  care-free  as  a  butterfly,  Thomas  follow- 
ing more  slowly,  and  the  father,  more  of  a 
child  than  either  of  his  children,  pausing 
along  the  road  to  pluck  flowers. 

The  hope  in  her  heart  made  her  young 
again.  She  went  back  to  her  sewing,  and 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME        .       215 

sang  as  she  worked.  She  had  long  since 
given  up  all  hope  of  finding  the  hidden 
money.  It  had  always  been  a  minor  trouble 
to  her.  With  Jim  well  and  as  he  had  been 
before,  nothing  else  could  matter.  She  felt 
that  if  he  would  once  more  know  her  and  call 
her  Allie  in  his  old,  tender,  affectionate  way, 
she  would  gladly  toil  and  slave  to  the  end 
of  life.  Unconsciously  her  voice  took  up 
the  words  of  an  old  song  which  she  had  sung 
in  school,  years  before. 

"Every  dark  night  has  a  morning, 

Ho— ho!    Ho— ho! 
Every  dark  cloud  has  a  silver  lining 

We  know !    We  know ! 
And  the  day  is  brighter  when  it  comes 
After  a  night  with  no  stars  shining, 
And  trustful  hearts  will  turn  their  clouds 
Inside  out  to  see  the  lining." 

She  worked  all  morning  steadily  without 
thought  of  dinner  or  a  moment  to  rest.  She 
might  have  gone  on  all  day  had  not  the 


218  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

splashes  of  rain  upon  the  porch  roof  startled 
her  from  her  day  dreams. 

"Raining!  I  must  see  about  the  peeps,'7 
she  said,  and  went  out  to  put  the  newly- 
hatched  chickens  under  cover. 

All  morning  the  young  people  were  hav- 
ing a  glorious  time  at  camp.  They  had 
staked  out  what  they  called  Indian  reserva- 
tions and,  dividing  themselves  into  two  tribes 
and  painting  their  faces  with  the  juice  of 
berries  and  leaves,  had  carried  on  Indian 
warfare. 

Jim  Crissman  sat  on  the  great  stone  and 
watched  them.  It  was  impossible  to  know 
if  he  grasped  the  idea  of  their  play,  but  he 
was  contented  there  and  smiled  whenever  his 
glance  met  one  of  theirs. 

"There!"  exclaimed  Rhoda.  "I  knew  it 
would  rain.  I  felt  a  great  drop.  Let  us  run 
for  the  cabin." 

The  rain  was  pattering  like  hail  about 
them.  Seizing  his  father  by  the  hand, 
Thomas  ran  with  the  others  to  the  camp. 

"Your  mother  has  a  nervous  headache  and 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  217 

you're  not  to  disturb  her,"  said  Suthern. 
''She's  lying  down  in  the  lobby,  and  is  not 
to  be  called  until  dinner  time." 

"Then  we'll  sit  out  under  the  canvas  porch 
and  tell  stories,"  said  Margery,  leading  the 
way.  "It  will  be  better  fun,  anyhow.  I 
love  to  watch  the  rain  if  it  doesn't  light- 
ning." 

"Let's  have  riddles  and  stories,"  said  Is- 
abelle,  seating  herself  on  the  half  log  which 
served  for  stools. 

' '  Let 's  tell  love  stories.  The  kind  you  read 
in  novels.  They  are  always  so  romantic," 
said  Mabel. 

At  this  Rhoda  sniffed  the  air  with  disdain. 
"Nampy,  pampy  stories  like  that?  They 
weary  me !  Let 's  tell  ghost  stories  or  Indian 
stories." 

Tom  Jones  stretched  himself  face  upward 
on  the  rocky  earth.  "That  suits  me,  Rhoda. 
Someone  give  us  a  good  Indian  story." 

"Suppose  you  start  one  yourself,"  said 
William. 

"All  right.    I  got  this  from  a  history  of 


218  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

father's.  Of  course,  I  can't  tell  it  as  it  was 
there.  It  was  too  short  and  dry.  I'll  em- 
bellish it  a  little. " 

He  began  the  story  which  he  garnished 
with  midnight  raids  and  much  scalping.  His 
hero  fairly  swam  in  gore.  Isabelle  and 
Mabel  shuddered;  Rhoda  worked  up  a  good 
show  of  interest  as  she  always  did  in  what- 
ever pleased  the  boys ;  but  Margery  heard  no 
word  of  what  was  being  said,  for  her  mind 
was  busy  with  matters  of  moment. 

The  rain  was  pelting  down.  Uncle  Doc- 
tor had  been  driven  in  from  the  woods.  He 
was  drenched  to  the  skin,  and  entered  the 
camp  to  change  his  clothes.  He  had  come  in 
from  over  the  higher  point  of  the  mountain 
and  entered  the  camp  by  way  of  the  kitchen, 
without  the  children  seeing  him.  Each  had 
taken  their  turn  in  story-telling  and  Mabel 
finished  with  a  particularly  doleful  tale. 

"That  was  too  bad,"  said  Isabelle  when 
Mabel  concluded.  "I'm  sorry  it  did  not 
turn  out  better.  I  like  my  stories  to  end 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  219 

so  that  everyone  lives  happily  ever  after- 
ward. " 

"But  anyway  it  all  happens  for  the  best," 
said  Margery,  sagely.  "Whatever  happens, 
happens  for  the  best  for  those  who  try  to 
live  right." 

"Nonsense!  Nonsense!"  exclaimed  a  gruff 
voice  back  of  her.  i  l  That 's  the  biggest  false- 
hood that  history  has  ever  handed  down  to 
posterity. ' ' 

They  started  suddenly  at  the  sound  of 
Doctor  Brenhizer's  voice.  Margery's  heart 
was  quaking,  but  she  had  enough  of  her 
mother's  spirit  in  her  not  to  permit  this 
attack  upon  her  beliefs.  She  got  upon  her 
feet  and  faced  squarely  about  that  she 
might  look  her  Uncle  Doctor  in  the  eye. 
"It's  not  a  falsehood!"  she  said  stoutly. 
"It  is  true.  My  mother  says  it  is  true  and 
she  knows." 

"Cant  and  bigotry!"  was  his  response  as 
he  came  from  the  doorway  out  under  the 
canvas  roof. 


220  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

At  this,  Jim  Crissman  arose  and  ap- 
proached the  doctor.  The  muscles  of  his 
face  were  working  like  a  man  in  convul- 
sions. He  laid  his  hand  upon  the  doctor's 
arm.  "Number  Ten  was  just  passing  when 
he  told  me  about  the  bones."  He  laughed 
gleefully.  There  was  something  horrible  in 
the  mirthless  sound.  "It's  all  come  back. 
I  couldn't  remember  before.  The  box  of 
bones.  You  know  where  to  find  the  box  of 
bones?  Don't  you?  Open  up  the  old  fel- 
low's bony  head.  I  knew  you  would  know 
if  I'd  tell  you.  I'm  glad  I  didn't  forget. 
I  did  forget  for  awhile.". 

Dr.  Brenhizer  had  stood  silent  while  this 
was  going  on.  When  Jim  had  finished,  the 
doctor  pushed  his  hand  away,  and  turning 
to  Thomas,  said,  "You'd  better  take  your 
father  home.  If  he  acts  in  this  way,  it  isn't 
safe  to  have  him  about." 

"He  never  acted  this  way  before,"  cried 
Laura.  "It's  only  when  he  sees  you  that 
he  acts  so.  But  you'd  make  anyone  nerv- 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  221 

ous  just  to  look  at  you.19  She  glared  at  him 
like  a  little  fury. 

"Tut — tut,  child!  Don't  show  the  same 
traits!  This  giving  up  to  fits  of  anger 
might  effect  your  mind  later." 

Thomas  had  said  no  word,  but,  arising, 
had  taken  his  father's  hand  and  moved 
down  the  old  camp  road  toward  home. 
Laura,  after  she  had  given  expression  to  her 
feelings,  of  necessity  followed. 

Tom  and  William  were  moved  by  the 
scene,  but,  rather  than  make  a  show  of  their 
emotion,  slipped  off  through  the  woods, 
heedless  of  the  dripping  boughs  of  the  trees. 

Margery  was  both  angry  and  touched. 
She  was  not  afraid  of  Uncle  Doctor  now. 
She  had  answered  him  sharply  and  he  had 
not  stricken  her  from  the  face  of  the  earth ; 
therefore  she  was  ready  to  take  the  same 
risks  again. 

"The  man's  crazy,"  said  Doctor  Bren- 
hizer.  "He  should  not  be  allowed  to  roam 
about.  He  will  harm  someone." 


222  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

"He  isn't  crazy!"  retorted  Margery. 
"He's  always  quiet  and  happy  until  he  sees 
you.  You  excite  him.  That's  why  he  acts 


so.' 


"Just  so,  my  little  niece,"  he  replied. 
"What  you  say  is  all  the  more  proof  of  his 
being  unsafe.  If  he  takes  queer  notions 
without  reason  about  one  stranger,  the  same 
thing  may  occur  again.  He  will  do  some- 
one harm.  I  shall  make  it  my  business  the 
next  time  I  go  into  town  to  report  him  to 
the  authorities  as  a  dangerous  person." 

"Don't  you  dare  to  do  it!"  she  cried. 
"You  make  everyone  unhappy  about  you, 
just  because  you  are  unhappy  yourself. 
You  think  that  poor  man  is  contented,  and 
you'd  make  him  and  his  children  misera- 
ble." She  looked  straight  into  his  eyes 
without  flinching.  She  was  not  afraid  of 
him  or  anyone  and  she  would  defend  her 
friends  against  the  world. 

Doctor  Brenhizer  looked  at  her  grimly 
until  she  had  quite  finished  her  angry 
speech.  Then  he  said  lightly,  "Tut,  tut,  it's 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  223 

not  seemly  for  a  little  girl  like  you  to  speak 
so  to  her  elders.  Your  mother  was  not 
brought  up  that  way,"  and  walked  on  into 
the  camp,  while  Margery,  yet  angry  and  de- 
fiant, retorted,  "It  would  have  been  better  if 
she  had!" 

The  little  storm  cleared  and  at  the  table 
the  children  were  as  happy  and  light  of 
heart  as  before.  Dr.  Brenhizer  and  Mrs. 
Houston  did  not  appear  until  the  meal  was 
finished  and  the  children  from  the  room. 

Margery  knew  that  her  mother  and  Uncle 
Doctor  had  their  heart-to-heart  talks  over 
the  tea-cups.  She  was  disquieted,  fearing 
that  her  mother  might  be  persuaded  to  for- 
bid further  visits  between  the  mill-house 
and  the  camp,  for  she  knew  how  her  mother 
loved  and  respected  Uncle  Doctor. 

Determined  that  her  mother  should  at 
least  hear  the  truth  of  the  Crissman  family, 
she  left  her  young  friends  and  joined  her 
mother  and  uncle  at  the  table. 

They  were  discussing  Jim  Crissman 's 
condition  when  she  slipped  in  and  sat  down 


224  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

on  the  bench  beside  her  mother.  Neither 
of  the  elder  people  paid  any  attention  to 
her,  and  she  sat  without  comment  until  her 
uncle  had  finished.  The  whole  gist  of  the 
story  was  that  Jim  Crissman  was  a  danger- 
ous character  to  have  at  large.  Mrs.  Hous- 
ton tacitly  agreed  with  him. 

"I  did  not  realize  his  condition  or  I  surely 
would  not  have  allowed  the  children  to  ask 
him  to  come  here, "  she  said. 

At  this  point  Margery  took  part  in  the 
conversation,  explaining  in  terms  not  com- 
plimentary to  the  doctor  that  it  was  Uncle 
Doctor  alone  who  caused  him  to  be  so  er- 
ratic, and  that  he  was  quiet  and  lovely  at 
other  times. 

To  this  Doctor  Brenhizer  replied  as  be- 
fore, "Tut,  tut,  child,  you  don't  know  what 
you  are  talking  about !  Leave  such  matters 
to  older  heads  than  yours." 

"I  do  know  what  I  am  talking  about!  I 
think  you  would  sit  quiet,  too,  if  you  were 
hit  on  the  head  with  a  stone.  I  think  you 
would  try  to  help  him  instead  of  planning 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  225 

to  make  his  children  and  his  poor  wife  un- 
happy." 

"Margery,  Margery,  you  are  speaking  too 
hastily !  Keep  quiet, "  said  her  mother. 

"What  does  the  child  mean?"  asked  Doc- 
tor Brenhizer,  turning  to  his  sister. 

"Nothing  at  all,  as  far  as  I  know.  Some 
of  Mabel  Wade's  romantic  ideas,  I  fancy." 

"No,  mother,  really.  Mabel  has  nothing 
to  do  with  it.  I  heard  the  story  first.  Let 
me  tell  it  to  you  and  Uncle  Doctor  just  as 
Thomas  told  it  to  me."  She  leaned  eagerly 
forward;  her  eyes  grew  bright  and  her 
cheeks  flushed.  She  grew  quite  eloquent  in 
her  girlish  way,  as  she  told  the  story  of  Jim 
Crissman's  promotion,  the  report  about  the 
bank,  the  hidden  money,  and  his  first  trip 
out. 

This  was  news  to  Mrs.  Houston.  As  she 
listened,  she  glanced  from  time  to  time  at 
her  brother  as  though  to  read  what  he 
thought  of  this  story;  but  Doctor  Brenhi- 
zer 's  face  was  grim  and  it  was  impossible 
to  tell  whether  he  were  really  listening. 


226  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

"Now,  Uncle  Doctor,"  she  exclaimed  as 
the  story  of  Jim  Crissman  was  finished, 
"you  will  cure  him  while  you  are  here,  won't 
you  ?  I  meant  to  ask  you  that  first  day  you 


came.' 


He  arose  from  the  table,  stepping  over  the 
long  bench  which  served  the  purpose  of 
chairs.  "Tut — tut,  I'd  have  my  hands  full 
of  such  cases  if  I'd  undertake  to  help  every 
one  which  is  brought  to  my  notice."  He 
took  up  his  instrument  case,  and  had  started 
out  for  the  woods  before  she  had  fully  re- 
covered from  her  surprise. 


CHAPTER  VII 

DIFFICULT  HOURS  FOR  ALL 

At  the  mill-house  Alice  was  worried  and 
anxious,  questioning  herself  if  she  had  done 
the  best  for  her  afflicted  husband  in  sending 
him  among  strangers.  The  only  comfort 
she  permitted  herself  was  found  in  the 
thought  that  she  had  done  what  she  thought 
was  best.  She  had  had  a  happy  day  until 
she  saw  the  children  and  their  father  com- 
ing home,  but  at  the  first  sight  of  them  she 
knew  that  all  was  not  as  usual.  Laura  was 
nervous  and  excited ;  Thomas  was  silent  and 
distressed;  while  the  father,  walking  be- 
tween them,  was  talking  rapidly.  His 
cheeks  were  flushed  and  his  eyes  frenzied. 

Alice  walked  down  to  the  gate  to  meet 
them.  Thomas  lifted  his  sorrowful,  plead- 
ing eyes  to  hers,  but  gave  no  explanation. 
227 


228  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

He  had  decided  that  he  would  not  tell  his 
mother  about  Doctor  Brenhizer's  saying 
that  his  father  was  dangerous,  and  should 
be  shut  up.  On  the  way  home  from  camp, 
he  pledged  Laura  to  promise  not  to  worry 
her  mother  with  that. 

Alice  went  up  to  her  husband,  and  laying 
her  hand  upon  his,  said  in  her  gentle,  affec- 
tionate manner;  "I'm  glad  you're  home, 
Jim.  Did  you  have  a  lovely  day  in  the 
woods  ?" 

He  gave  no  answering,  confiding  smile  to 
her  words,  but  he  pushed  her  hand  away 
and  cried  out,  "Why  don't  you  tell  me  what 
it  was  I  was  to  tell  him  ?  You  know  I  was 
to  tell  him  and  I  cannot  remember." 

"Yes,  Jim.  I'll  tell  you  bye-and-bye — 
after  we  eat  supper.  It  is  quite  ready  for 
you.  I  knew  you  and  the  children  would 
be  hungry."  They  had  come  to  the  door  of 
the  house  and  paused,  waiting  for  him  to 
enter.  But  instead  he  sat  down  in  the  door- 
way, and,  burying  his  face  in  his  hands, 
muttered  and  talked  to  himself  about  trying 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  229 

to  tell  what  it  was  and  no  one  would  help 
him.  The  children  were  trembling  with 
fear,  but  their  mother  was  as  calm  and  se- 
rene as  ever.  She  smiled  at  them  as  plac- 
idly as  had  been  her  habit.  "Come, 
children!  You  must  be  tired  and  hungry. 
Eat  your  supper  and  slip  off  to  bed." 

Then  to  give  them  confidence  and  to  show 
that  she  had  no  fear  in  her  heart,  she  sat 
at  the  table  with  them  and  forced  herself 
to  eat,  although  the  food  stuck  in  her  throat, 
and  her  heart  was  heavy  within  her. 

When  they  had  finished,  she  gathered  up 
the  dishes,  preparatory  to  washing  them. 
"  While  mother  is  doing  this  work,  you  had 
better  get  a  basin  of  water,  Thomas.  You 
and  Laura  must  wash  your  feet  before  you 
go  to  bed." 

"Must  I,  mother?    I'm  so  tired." 

She  looked  down  at  the  dusty,  mud- 
stained  feet  and  legs,  which  unshod  had 
traveled  the  mountains  all  day.  She 
laughed  gayly  as  she  answered,  "Would  you 
go  to  bed  with  such  dirty  legs,  Thomas?" 


230  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

He  got  up  and  went  out  to  the  well  to 
draw  the  water.  Laura  followed  him  and 
they  sat  on  the  well-curb  and  splashed  the 
water  about,  and  forgot  for  a  time  their 
worry  and  fear,  just  as  the  mother  knew 
they  would. 

When  she  had  seen  them  safe  in  bed,  she 
came  out  to  the  door  and  sat  beside  her 
husband.  She  had  the  little  scrap  of  pa- 
per which  she  had  taken  from  his  hand  that 
day  of  the  accident ;  but  she  kept  it  from  his 
view,  waiting  a  favorable  opportunity  to 
bring  it  to  his  notice.  He  had  been  quiet 
for  some  minutes,  but  at  her  appearance  he 
began  the  broken  talk  about  not  knowing 
and  her  not  helping  him  to  remember. 

"Why  don't  you  tell  me — tell  me  what  I 
was  to  say  to  him?" 

"Was  it  this,  Jim — Telluride,  Mexico®" 
She  laid  the  crumpled  paper  before  him. 

"That's  it— that's  it!"  he  cried  excitedly. 
"Now  I'll  tell  him!  Now  I'll  tell  him!" 
He  paused  and  looked  vacantly  about  him. 
"What  was  it  I  was  to  tell  him?  Oh,  what 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  231 

was  it?  What  was  it*?"  He  buried  Ms 
face  in  his  hands,  talking  meanwhile  and 
asking  what  it  was  he  should  tell. 

Alice  sat  quiet  and  seemingly  unmoved, 
while  she  watched  and  listened.  She  could 
bear  seeing  him  suffer  more  than  this;  she 
would  willingly  go  through  all  this  trouble 
again  if  she  could  arouse  his  benumbed 
brain  into  activity,  and  see  him  as  he  had 
been  before. 

The  night  had  come.  They  sat  in  the 
darkness  while  he.  struggled  to  bring  his 
mind  under  control.  Several  hours  passed 
in  this  way  when  his  tears  fell  upon  the  hand 
she  had  reached  forth  to  caress  him. 

"What  is  it,  Jim?    Tell  Allie  about  it." 

"I  don't  know  what  it  was.  I  can't  tell 
anyone,"  and  he  sobbed  over  his  trouble  as 
a  child  would  have  done. 

"Don't  try  to  think  about  it,  Jim.  It 
really  does  not  matter  if  you  tell  him  or  not. 
Perhaps  he  knows." 

"Can't  you  tell  what  it  was?" 

"No;  I  can't,  Jim.    Allie  is  very  sorry 


232  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

but  she  cannot  help  you.  Come  to  bed  and 
rest.  To-morrow  may  make  it  right." 

She  arose  and  passed  into  the  house,  and 
he  obediently  followed.  He  fell  asleep  soon 
after  going  to  bed,  but  tossed  about  and 
talked.  She  sat  by  his  side  until  he  grew 
quiet,  and  only  when  she  thought  that  he 
was  sleeping  soundly,  she  allowed  herself  to 
rest. 

She  had  scarcely  fallen  asleep  when  she 
awoke  with  a  start.  Jim  was  standing  in 
the  middle  of  the  room  with  a  lighted  lamp 
in  his  hand. 

"What  is  it,  Jim?"  she  asked,  making  an 
effort  to  keep  both  surprise  and  worry  from 
her  voice,  lest  it  excite  him.  His  manner 
and  voice  were  rational  as  he  answered  her, 
"I'm  looking  for  that  red  tin  box." 

She  gave  a  start  of  surprise.  For  one 
instant  she  believed  that  his  memory  had 
returned,  and  that  he  was  only  confused  by 
his  new  surroundings. 

"A  red  tin  box.  It  had  some  diamonds 
in  it.  I  cannot  think  where  I  put  it.  I 


Hey,  there.   Orissman,  you're  called  for  Sixty-five 
on  time!"  (Sec  page  273.) 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  233 

think  I  know  where.  It  was  in  the  empty 
skull  of  a  box  of  bones.  That's  where  it  is. 
Now  I  must  look  for  the  bones." 

"I  will  help  you,  Jim.  But  it  is  too  dark 
now  to  see  well.  Let  us  wait  until  morn- 
ing. Then  we'll  look.  Go  back  to  bed  and 
sleep  until  to-morrow." 

He  looked  at  her  intently.  "Why,  I 
didn't  know  who  you  were.  But  I  know 
you  now." 

Her  heart  stopped  beating.  For  a  mo- 
ment she  held  her  breath.  If  he  could  call 
her  Allie  but  once,  she  believed  she  could 
be  happy. 

"Who  am  I,  Jim?"  she  asked  softly. 

"You ?  Why,  you  are  the  operator  at  the 
O.  K.  office.  I  know  that.  Didn't  you  just 
hand  me  my  orders'?  That's  Number  Ten 
now  turning  the  curve.  She's  running  late. 
Kimball's  firing  and  we'll  pull  out  of  here 
in  a  few  minutes." 

"Go  to  bed,  Jim,  and  sleep,"  she  said, 
pushing  him  toward  the  bed.  He  obeyed 
her  now  for  his  old  mood  was  upon  him. 


234  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

She  put  out  the  light  and  sat  by  him  all 
night,  lest  he  should  slip  from  the  house 
without  her  knowing  where  he  had  gone. 
•          •          •          •         • 

The  spirit  of  disturbance  seemed  to  be 
in  the  air  that  day  and  night.  Up  at  the 
camp  on  the  mountain,  Margery  Houston 
was  acting  as  never  before.  She  had  quar- 
reled with  her  guests  until  they  had  gone  off 
and  sat  by  themselves ;  she  had  fussed  with 
William  until  blows  almost  passed  between 
them,  and  when  her  mother  had  repri- 
manded her,  she  had  replied  curtly.  They 
looked  in  surprise  at  the  gentle,  sweet-tem- 
pered Margery. 

"Go  into  the  lobby,  Margery,"  said  Mrs. 
Houston.  "Stay  there  by  yourself  until 
you  can  be  with  the  others  without  quarrel- 
ing." 

Downcast  and  miserable,  Margery  obeyed. 
Entering  the  lobby,  she  threw  herself  face 
downward  across  her  cot  and  sobbed  her 
anger  away. 

A    few    minutes    later,    Mrs.    Houston 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  235 

slipped  in  and  knelt  by  Margery's  side. 
"Tell  mother  aU  about  it,"  she  said.  "What 
has  happened?" 

"It's  all  Uncle  Doctor,"  she  replied.  "I 
always  want  to  quarrel  when  he's  about — 
but  I  did  think  he  would  be  noble  and  gen- 
erous if  he  was  glum  and  silent.  From 
the  first  day  when  I  met  the  Crissmans,  I 
felt  sure  that  Uncle  Doctor  would  make 
their  father  well.  He  could,  if  he  wanted 
to,  but  he's  selfish  and  cruel." 

"Don't  think  about  that,  Margery.  Per- 
haps Uncle  Doctor  is  not  so  unkind  as  you 
'think.  He  may  know  that  nothing  can  help 
that  poor  man.  There  are  some  cases  which 
no  doctor,  however  skilled  he  is,  can  help." 

"But  he  could  try." 

"But  he  may  know  that  any  attempt 
would  be  useless.  It  would  be  cruel  to  make 
the  poor  man  suffer  when  no  good  can  pos- 
sibly come  of  it.  You  are  only  a  little  girl 
yet,  Margery,  and  do  not  always  see  mat- 
ters in  the  right  light.  Leave  such  matters 
to  older  and  wiser  heads." 


236  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

"But  I  did  so  want  to  help  them!" 

"I  know  you  did,  dear.  Your  wish  and 
effort  shows  a  loving  little  heart;  but  for 
this  time  believe  that  Uncle  Doctor  knows 
best.  You  have  done  what  you  could  in 
telling  him  about  this  poor,  afflicted  man. 
Don't  worry  longer  about  it.  Come  out  and 
sit  by  the  campfire.  Suthern  has  roasting 
ear.s  in  the  husks.  "We'll  put  them  in  the 
coals  to-night." 

"Ill  come  in  a  few  minutes,  mother,  after 
I  bathe  my  eyes.  I  do  not  wish  the  girls 
to  know  that  I  was  crying." 

"Very  well,  Margery."  Mrs.  Houston 
left  the  lobby  and  joined  the  circle  of  older 
people  about  the  campfire.  A  few  minutes 
later  Margery  came  out  and  buried  her 
troubles  in  the  delight  of  making  hot  beds  of 
ashes  for  the  corn  roasting. 

Uncle  Doctor  was  the  only  one  of  the 
campers  who  was  not  beside  the  fire  as  the 
stories  and  laughter  passed  gayly  from  one 
to  the  other.  He  had  left  the  supper  table 
and  gone  into  the  woods,  as  was  his  habit. 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  237 

But  his  trap  and  snares  did  not  usually  keep 
him  long.  He  had  always  returned  before 
night  had  settled.  But  this  evening  he  was 
troubled.  He  wished  to  be  alone  with  his 
thoughts,  so  on  his  return  he  stopped  within 
a  short  distance  of  camp,  and  seated  him- 
self on  the  rocky  ledge  which  overhung  the 
brow  of  the  mountain.  He  could  catch  the 
reflection  of  the  campfire  but  no  sound  of 
life  from  the  cleared  space  below  came  to 
him.  The  darkness  and  silence  fitted  in 
with  his  thoughts,  which  were  gloomy  and 
depressed.  His  life  had  not  been  a  festive 
one.  There  had  been  years  of  hard  work 
and  self-denial  to  fit  himself  for  his  profes- 
sion, yet  he  had  been  both  contented  and 
happy  at  that  period.  The  years  when  his 
wife  and  boy  were  with  him  were  like  bands 
of  gold  binding  his  earlier  and  later  life. 
The  wife  was  gone.  Yet  he  could  have 
borne  her  loss  without  letting  it  embitter  his 
life,  for  he  had  been  with  her  to  the  last  and 
knew  that  she  was  content  to  go.  But  his 
boy !  What  did  he  know  of  him  ?  Perhaps 


238  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

he  was  leading  a  life  of  crime,  putting  into 
the  world  all  the  evil  which  his  magnificent 
mind  could  conceive ;  or  it  might  be  that  he 
lay  in  an  unmarked  grave  in  the  potters' 
field,  or  was  a  wanderer  upon  the  face  of  the 
earth.  There  was  gayety  and  happiness  in 
the  little  camp  below  him.  How  could  he 
take  part  in  it,  when  somewhere  his  own  son 
might  be  freezing,  starving  or  suffering  ? 

His  thoughts  turned  to  the  poor  afflicted 
creature  who  had  visited  camp  that  after- 
noon. It  was  not  pity  so  much  as  science 
which  caused  his  thoughts  to  turn  toward 
him.  If  what  Margery  had  told  him  about 
the  man's  being  hit  by  a  stone  were  true,  the 
case  was  quite  within  his  power  to  reach. 
He  had  performed  similar  operations  scores 
of  times  and  could  again.  But  why  should 
he?  This  was  the  question  which  came  to 
him.  Why  should  he  go  to  the  trouble  to 
help  this  man$  No  one  had  turned  aside 
from  his  work  or  his  pleasure  to  lay  a  re- 
straining hand  upon  his  son  or  to  say  a  word 
of  warning  to  him.  He  had  come  to  the 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  239 

mountain  for  his  own  pleasure  and  rest  and 
did  not  wish  to  have  either  intruded  upon. 
He  would  not  bother  with  this  man  Criss- 
man  who  lived  in  the  mill-house,  he  made  up 
his  mind  to  that. 

He  refilled  his  pipe  and,  throwing  himself 
on  his  back  on  the  ledge,  looked  up  into  the 
vault  of  blue  above  him.  Infinite  worlds — 
universe  after  universe  of  souls  revolving 
millions  of  miles  above  him — who  knew? 
Science  had  never  reached  to  the  worlds 
beyond.  Man  had  stopped  with  that  which 
was  just  beneath  his  hand.  His  knowledge 
stopped  within  narrow  limits.  All  he  could 
say  of  the  universe  which  revolved  above 
him  was  that  he  did  not  know. 

But  one  thing  the  learned  Doctor  Bren- 
hizer  did  know  this  night  as  he  lay  on  the 
ledge  and  looked  heavenward.  He  knew 
that  he  was  infinitely  small  and  insignificant 
— a  mere  atom  in  the  world  about  him  and 
the  thought  did  not  satisfy  him. 

He  aroused  himself.  He  must  get  into 
camp  or  his  sister  would  worry  about  him. 


240  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

He  got  up  and  stretched  himself,  for  his 
limbs  had  grown  numb  by  contact  with  the 
stone.  He  made  his  way  down  the  moun- 
tainside to  the  camp.  It  was  an  easy 
matter,  for  the  fire  flared  like  a  torch  against 
the  sky.  He  came  into  the  clearing,  passed 
without  a  word  those  seated  there  and  went 
directly  to  his  cot  and  slept  as  though  the 
world  and  its  cares  touched  him  not.  He 
awoke  at  the  first  glimmer  of  daylight  and 
at  once  aroused  Suthern,  who  slept  in  a  ham- 
mock swung  under  the  trees. 

"Make  me  a  cup  of  strong  coffee  and  lay 
out  a  lunch  while  I  shave,  but  don't  waken 
the  others. " 

When  he  reappeared,  freshly  shaved  and 
dressed,  his  coffee  and  eggs  and  bacon  were 
ready.  "When  he  had  finished  his  breakfast, 
he  turned  to  Suthern.  "If  Mrs.  Houston 
asks  for  me,  tell  her  IVe  been  fed  and  have 
gone  down  the  mountain  on  a  little  matter 
of  business, "  and  taking  up  his  great  leather 
case  fitted  with  his  delicate  instruments,  he 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  241 

went  down  the  old  lumber  road  to  the  foot 
of  the  hiU. 

Alice  was  busied  with  her  breakfast — the 
children  were  yet  sleeping  when  she  saw  the 
doctor  come  briskly  along  the  road.  To  her 
surprise,  he  entered  her  gate  and  came  up 
the  garden  walk.  She  trembled  with 
strange  forebodings.  Her  limbs  would  have 
refused  to  move  had  she  not  forced  them  to 
it.  She  went  to  the  door  to  meet  him,  for  if 
his  errand  were  unpleasant,  she  did  not  wish 
the  children  to  overhear  what  he  might  say. 

In  his  brusque,  grim  way,  he  brushed  past 
her  into  the  house.  "Sit  down,  woman. 
I've  come  to  talk  to  you  about  your  husband. 
Sit  down. " 

He  pushed  a  rocking  chair  toward  her  and 
Alice  dropped  in  it,  all  her  power  of  resist- 
ance gone  from  her. 


RECALLED 

Thomas  and  Laura  slept  until  late.  By 
that  time  the  conference  between  the  doctor 
and  the  mother  was  finished.  But  Thomas 
saw  Doctor  Brenhizer  leaving  the  house  and 
go-  toward  town,  and  his  little  heart  was 
troubled.  He  believed  that  the  doctor  was 
doing  what  he  had  threatened  to  do  about 
having  the  father  shut  up.  He  turned  away 
from  the  upper  window  and  hurriedly 
finished  his  dressing.  He  did  not  tell  his 
fears  to  Laura,  for  he  already  possessed  the 
manly  instinct  of  saving  and  protecting  her 
because  she  was  weaker  and  younger. 

His  father  was  sleeping  soundly.    He 

went    downstairs,    expecting    to    find    his 

mother  distressed  by  the  doctor's  visit,  but 

on  the  contrary  she  was  busy  with  her  work 

243 


244  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

with  an  eager,  expectant  air  that:  he  had 
never  seen  before.  She  caught  him  in  her 
arms  and  kissed  him  with  a  fierce  show  of 
affection. 

"Come  eat  breakfast  at  once,  sonny. 
Don't  make  a  noise  or  wake  father.  Let 
him  sleep  as  long  as  he  will,  for  he  was  not 
well  last  night.  Here  comes  mother's  little 
girl,"  she  beamed  fondly  upon  Laura,  who 
just  then  entered  the  kitchen.  "Come, 
girlie,  and  get  through  with  breakfast. 
Mother  has  a  pleasant  surprise  for  you 
both." 

They  looked  up  expectantly  at  her. 

"You  could  never  guess  it.  You  are  to 
go  into  town  to  spend  the  day  with  Mrs. 
Heiner.  Won't  that  be  lovely?  She  will 
take  you  out  in  the  pony  cart  and  show  you 
her  flowers  and  books.  You  are  to  go  as 
soon  as  you  can  get  ready  and  stay  until  she 
brings  you  home  this  evening." 

Laura  was  loud  in  her  exclamations  of 
delight,  and  began  at  once  on  her  breakfast 
that  she  soon  might  make  ready  for  the  visit. 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  245 

But  not  so  with  Thomas.  He  pushed  his 
plate  from  him.  He  was  suspicious  of  this 
sudden  visit.  Did  it  mean  that  his  father 
would  be  taken  away  while  he  and  Laura 
were  absent  ?  He  looked  up  at  his  mother, 
his  fear  showing  in  his  eyes,  and  she  under- 
stood his  look. 

"It  is  all  right,  sonny,"  she  whispered, 
bending  over  the  back  of  his  chair  until  her 
lips  touched  his  forehead.  "Doctor  Bren- 
hizer  has  gone  to  see  Doctor  Heiner.  They 
are  both  coming  back  soon  to  help  father. 
Doctor  Brenhizer  believes  he  can.  At  least, 
he  will  make  the  attempt.  If  no  good  comes 
from  it,  your  father  will  be  no  worse  than 
before.  There  is  one  chance  of  making  him 
well,  and  I  said  that  they  should  take  that 
chance. " 

His  face  cleared.  He  was  such  a  child 
that  his  emotions  bounded  from  one  extreme 
to  another  like  a  gum  ball.  He  laughed 
aloud.  "We'll  have  a  fine  time,  won't  we, 
Laura?  Mrs.  Heiner  may  let  me  hold  the 
reins  and  drive,  but  she  won't  let  you,  Laura. 


246  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

You're  too  little!  It  takes  strong  arms  to 
hold  in  a  horse." 

"I  don't  want  to  drive.  I'd  rather  pick 
flowers  and  she'll  let  me  wear  her  string  of 
blue  beads  while  I'm  there." 

Alice  made  the  children  ready  and  sent 
them  to  town.  Doctor  Brenhizer  had  prom- 
ised to  tell  Mrs.  Heiner  to  expect  them.  He 
himself  had  suggested  their  being  sent  away 
for  several  days  if  possible.  The  presence 
of  children  annoyed  him,  and  he  did  not  wish 
to  have  them  about  the  house  while  he  was 
there. 

Alice  watched  them  until  they  turned 
from  the  Paddy's  Run  road  into  the  one 
that  was  but  a  continuation  of  the  main 
street  of  the  town,  then  she  went  to  put  her 
house  in  order.  Her  husband  was  at  the 
breakfast  table  when  she  went  back  to  the 
house.  He  looked  tired  out  after  his  rest- 
less night.  She  saw  to  it  that  he  had  what 
he  wished  to  eat  and  then  slipped  away  to 
arrange  his  bedroom. 

Doctor  Brenhizer  had  told  her  what  to 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  247 

make  ready  and  had  suggested  that  she  have 
his  room  as  nearly  like  that  of  the  old  home 
as  possible,  so  that  when  he  awakened  he 
would  not  be  conscious  at  first  of  any  great 
change.  When  he  awakened,  if  he  ever 
would!  There  was  an  uncertainty  about 
that.  Yet  she  did  not  hesitate  to  take  upon 
her  shoulders  the  responsibility  of  the  risk. 
She  was  doing  for  Jim  what  she  knew  he 
would  do  for  her  were  their  positions 
changed.  It  was  her  duty  to  give  him  the 
chance  of  a  living  life  even  at  great  risks  of 
robbing  him  of  life  in  any  form.  She 
changed  the  furniture  about,  arranged  the 
window  draperies  and  placed  a  picture  op- 
posite the  bed  where  his  glance  might  rest 
upon  it  as  it  had  been  in  the  old  home. 

It  was  almost  noon  when  the  doctors  and 
nurse  returned.  Doctor  Brenhizer  re- 
mained without,  under  the  shade  of  the 
forest  trees,  lest  the  sight  of  him  might 
excite  the  patient.  Doctor  Heiner  came  in 
cheery  and  light-spirited.  He  sat  down  for 
a  few  minutes  in  the  living-room  while  Alice 


248  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

assisted  Miss  Spangler  in  making  ready  the 
sponges  and  basins.  At  last  Doctor  Heiner 
spoke  to  the  man  sitting  near  him.  "Come 
upstairs  with  me.  You  need  to  rest.  You'll 
feel  fine  if  you  sleep  a  little." 

He  arose  and  held  out  his  hand.  Jim 
laid  his  own  within  it  and  went  with  the 
doctor  as  quietly  as  a  child.  When  they 
entered  the  bedroom,  he  persuaded  him  to 
undress  and  go  to  bed,  promising  that  when 
he  awoke  he  would  remember  about  the  box 
and  the  diamonds  and  the  bones.  And  Jim 
listened  and  did  as  he  was  told.  But  the 
instant  his  head  touched  the  pillow,  Doctor 
Heiner  laid  the  sponge  upon  his  nostrils  and 
lips.  A  minute  later  Jim  Crissman  was 
unconscious  that  Doctor  Brenhizer  and 
Miss  Spangler  were  removing  the  pillow 
from  beneath  his  head  and  that  his  bed  was 
being  wheeled  close  to  the  window. 

When  the  operation  had  been  performed 
and  the  room  put  in  its  accustomed  order, 
the  patient  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  about 
him.  The  nurse  and  doctors  were  yet  in 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  249 

the  room,  but  he  was  yet  too  much  under 
the  influence  of  the  ether  to  grasp  what  was 
going  on  about  him.  He  drank  from  the 
glass  which  the  nurse  held  to  his  lips  and 
then  lay  back  again  on  the  pillow  and  slept. 

It  was  too  soon  to  know  whether  the 
operation  would  have  the  desired  results  but 
not  too  soon  to  know  that  the  danger  of 
death  itself  had  passed. 

Miss  Spangler  was  left  in  charge  of  the 
sickroom.  The  two  doctors  talked  alone 
with  Alice  before  they  left  the  house. 

"We  cannot  tell  when  he  will  awaken; 
but  you  must  be  there  when  he  does.  He 
must  see  no  strange  face.  Have  all  things 
as  nearly  as  possible  as  they  were  the  day 
he  left  home  before  the  accident.  He  may 
not  understand  that  seven  years  have  passed 
and  don't  let  him  know  now.  Agree  with 
all  he  says  and  keep  him  tranquil  and 
quiet." 

This  was  the  gist  of  the  advice  they  gave 
her  and  she  realized  how  important  seeming 
trifles  might  be  in  his  awakening. 


250  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

She  went  into  the  children's  room  and 
taking  from  the  chest  the  linen  dress  she  had 
worn  the  evening  before  Jim  had  gone  on 
his  trip,  she  dressed  herself  in  it,  though 
she  felt  awkward  and  ill  at  ease.  She 
arranged  her  hair  in  the  old  fluffy,  girlish 
style  of  seven  years  before.  Yet  in  spite  of 
her  care,  it  was  not  the  same  Alice  who  had 
worn  the  gown  before.  She  examined  her- 
self in  the  glass.  The  girlishness  had  gone 
from  face  and  figure,  yet  a  new  charm  had 
taken  its  place.  Jim  might  find  her  dif- 
ferent, but  perhaps  the  new  Alice  would 
please  him  even  more  than  the  other  had 
done. 

The  children  were  to  stay  with  Mrs. 
Heiner  for  the  remainder  of  the  week.  She 
missed  them  sadly,  yet  felt  that  the  doctors 
were  right  in  thinking  that  their  absence  at 
this  time  was  best  both  for  themselves  and 
their  father. 

She  hovered  about  the  bedroom  door  until 
evening.  Then  the  nurse  allowed  her  to 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  251 

come  in  and  sit  by  the  bedside  while  she  her- 
self rested. 

Twilight  came  and  deepened  into  night. 
Early  in  the  evening  Dr.  Brenhizer  came  in, 
touched  the  pulse,  listened  to  the  beating  of 
the  heart,  and  gave  an  exclamation  of  relief. 

Alice  was  about  to  arise  and  light  the 
lamp,  but  he  forbade  her.  "Ill  sit  here  a 
while,"  he  said,  seating  himself  in  the  chair 
by  the  open  window. 

It  was  past  ten  o'clock  when  the  patient 
stirred,  moved,  and  then  his  eyes  fell  upon 
the  white  figure  by  his  side. 

"Why,  Alice,  are  you  up  and  dressed?" 

Her  heart  sprang  into  her  throat  and 
choked  her.  For  seven  years,  she  had  been 
starving  to  hear  him  speak  her  name.  She 
felt  like  laughing  aloud  and  shrieking  for 
joy,  but  his  welfare  was  first  in  her  mind,  so 
she  controlled  herself  and  said  calmly, 
"Yes,  Jim,  I've  been  up  some  time." 

"About  what  time  is  it?" 

"Somewhere  about  ten  o'clock." 


252  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

' '  I  thought  it  wasn  't  daylight  yet.  You  've 
kept  the  blinds  down  and  the  room  dark  so 
I  could  sleep.  Wasn't  the  caller  here?  I 
stood  second  out. " 

* '  No,  he  hasn  't  been  here.  I  suppose  he  '11 
be  around  later." 

He  made  a  motion  as  though  he  would  get 
up.  She  laid  a  restraining  hand  on  his  arm. 

"You  must  stay  in  bed  to-day,  Jim,  or 
until  the  doctor  comes.  You've  been  sick, 
you  know." 

"No,  I  didn't  know.  I  did  have  horrible 
dreams  about  something.  I  was  trying  to 
talk  and  no  one  seemed  to  know  what  I  said. 
"What  was  the  matter  ? ' ' 

She  did  not  need  to  answer,  for  his  hand 
had  gone  up  to  his  head  and  touched  the 
bandages.  He  partly  grasped  their  mean- 
ing. 

"Been  hurt  1    An  accident  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  but  not  serious.  You  were  uncon- 
scious. That  was  all." 

"Were  any  of  the  other  men  hurt?  How 
did  it  happen?" 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  253 

"It  wasn't  a  wreck,  Jim.  The  train  went 
through,  all  right.  You  were  the  only 
one — " 

"I'm  glad  of  that." 

" — who  was  hurt.  You  were  hit  by  a 
stone  from  the  quarry." 

"It's  a  wonder  there  are  not  more  hurt. 
The  first  thing  I  do  when  I  get  out  of  bed  is 
to  report  that  place  as  dangerous.  They 
have  no  business  to  let  Huns  and  Dagos  fix 
a  blast.  They  don't  know  how  to  use 
powder.  I'll  see  that  that  place  is  reported 
at  once." 

"Yes,  Jim." 

She  did  not  tell  him  that  five  years  had 
passed  since  a  blast  had  been  set  off  at  the 
quarry.  He  was  quiet  for  some  minutes. 

"What  day  is  it?" 

"Friday,  Jim." 

"Friday,  and  I  made  my  first  run  on 
Tuesday.  Have  I  been  sick  all  that  time?" 

"Yes;  but  you  were  a  very  good  patient, 
Jim.  I  was  with  you  all  the  time." 

"What  did  you  do  with  the  babies'?" 


254  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

"Mrs.  Heiner  is  taking  care  of  them." 

"Did  Laura's  tooth  come  through?" 

"Yes;  she  was  a  little  fretful.  That  was 
all.  But  babies  generally  are  with  the  first 
tooth. " 

Dr.  Brenhizer  stirred  near  the  window. 
Jim  Crissman  turned  his  head  but  his  eyes 
could  not  pierce  the  darkness. 

"Whoisthat,AUie<?" 

"The  doctor,  Jim." 

' '  Is  that  you,  Heiner  ?  You  Ve  made  a  nice 
job  of  it,  keeping  me  in  bed  almost  a  week. 
But  I've  the  upper  hand  now,  and  I  mean  to 
get  out  of  here  on  short  notice." 

"Nothing  will  please  me  better.  But  this 
is  not  Heiner.  He  couldn't  be  on  hand  and 
I've  taken  his  place." 

The  patient  raised  himself  slightly  in  an 
effort  to  see  the  speaker  but  he  could  not. 
He  lay  back  on  the  pillow  again. 

"You're  a  stranger,  doctor.  I  know  by 
your  voice.  I  was  raised  in  this  town  and  I 
know  every  man  in  it.  How  did  you  happen 
to  get  side-tracked  here?" 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  255 

The  doctor  moved  nearer  the  bed.  "I 
have  friends  here  and  I  came  up  for  a  time. 
My  name 's  Brenhizer. ' ' 

"I  wonder  if  you  could  be  the  Doctor 
Brenhizer  who  lives  over  at  Dixmont  1 ' ' 

"The  very  same.  How  did  you  happen 
to  hear  of  me?" 

"Some  queer  things  happen.  I  heard  of 
you  for  the  first  time  last  Tuesday  when  I 
went  out.  There  was  a  young  man  bum- 
ming his  way  in  an  empty  freight  car.  I 
got  to  talking  to  him  when  we  waited  for 
orders  at  the  O.  K.  office.  He  was  in  a 
pretty  bad  way.  He  was  all  worked  up  over 
some  of  the  wild  things  he  had  been  doing." 

"And  what  did  he  say  of  me?" 

"He  said  to  write  to  you  and  tell  you  that 
he  had  turned  over  a  new  leaf.  He  was  on 
his  way  to  join  a  fellow  he  had  met  at  school 
and  who  was  located  in  the  southwest.  He 
said  if  you  wanted  to  hear  from  him  and  it 
was  safe  for  him  to  ever  come  back  you  were 
to  write  to  him  there." 

"He  was  very  thoughtful.     Thank  you, 


256  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

Crissman,  for  delivering  the  message.  The 
young  scamp  should  not  have  bothered  a 
stranger  to  deliver  his  messages  for  him. 
tWhat  was  the  name  of  the  place  1" 

"I've  forgotten.  He  wrote  it  down  on  a 
scrap  of  paper.  I  suppose  it's  stuffed  in  my 
overalls  pocket." 

"I  found  it,  Jim,  and  put  it  safely  away. 
It  was  Telluride,  Mexico,  wasn't  it?" 

"Yes,  that's  the  place.  He  said  if  you 
missed  anything  at  home  you  were  to  look 
in  the  old  bone's  head.  Whate\  he  meant 
by  that,  I  don't  know.  But  those  are  his 
very  words." 

"Yes,  I  understand.  We  had  a  little  joke 
of  our  own.  Thank  you,  Crissman.  I'm 
going  now.  You  are  to  do  no  more  talking, 
but  take  this  medicine  and  go  to  sleep  or 
111  see  that  you  are  kept  in  bed  more  than 
one  day  longer." 

He  left  the  old  mill-house  and  went  into 
town.  The  places  of  business  had  been 
closed  for  hours  and  the  streets  were 
deserted.  He  was  glad  of  it  for  he  wished 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  257 

to  meet  no  one  whom  he  knew  and  to  talk 
with  no  one. 

He  walked  the  streets  until  he  found  the 
telegraph  office  from  which  he  sent  two  mes- 
sages. The  one  was  to  the  chief  town  officer 
at  Telluride,  Mexico  and  read : 

"Spare  no  money  to  find  Harry  Bren- 
hizer  who  left  for  your, town  seven  years 
ago.  Communicate  with  father — Henry 
Brenhizer." 

The  second  was  to  his  assistant  at  Dix- 
mont.  "S  jtfch  cranial  cavities  of  skeleton 
in  box  in  home  office.  Telegraph  contents." 

After  writing  the  messages,  he  went  to 
Doctor  Heiner  where  he  made  his  home 
while  in  town. 

"Our  man  is  all  right,"  he  called  to 
Doctor  Heiner  as  he  passed  his  bedroom. 
"He'll  be  out  in  a  day  or  more." 

The  following  morning  proved  that  his 
conclusions  were  incorrect  for  on  visiting 
the  mill-house  they  found  Jim  Crissman 
delirious  with  fever. 


17 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  DAWNIXG  OF  THE  DAY 

There  were  ten  days  of  suspense  and  un-. 
certainty  concerning  Jim  Crissman's  illness. 
Then  the  fever  abated  and  he  lay  as  helpless 
as  a  child.  But  his  mind  was  back  as  it  had 
been  before  the  accident,  and  the  seven 
years  of  his  affliction  had  passed  from  his 
memory.  If  he  was  conscious  of  them  at 
all,  it  was  as  though  they  were  parts  of  a 
half -remembered  dream. 

Doctor  Brenhizer  was  devoted  in  his  at- 
tentions, making  frequent  visits  each  day 
and  providing  the  medicine  and  food  neces- 
sary to  the  patient's  recovery.  His  manner 
was  as  brusque  and  his  face  as  grim  as  ever, 
but  even  Margery  was  forgetting  them  when 
she  saw  his  skill  and  devotion. 

The  evening  after  the  second  day  on  which 
259 


260  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

he  had  sent  his  messages  word  came  from 
his  assistant  at  Dixmont.  Its  receipt  took 
from  Doctor  Brenhizer  much  of  the  shame 
he  had  been  carrying  for  years,  for  in  the 
cavity  of  the  skull  of  the  skeleton  the  as- 
sistant had  found  the  jewels  which  Doctor 
Brenhizer  thought  his  own  son  had  stolen. 
The  son  had  put  them  there,  of  course. 
Doctor  Brenhizer  would  not  ask  himself  the 
reason.  He  was  satisfied  to  wait  an  explana- 
tion ;  he  was  not  impatient.  He  had  waited 
seven  years  without  hope  for  this  bit  of 
knowledge.  Now  a  few  months  would  soon 
pass  with  hope  to  bear  him  company. 

When  the  patient  had  so  far  recovered 
that  he  observed  what  was  passing  on  about 
him,  he  became  conscious  that  the  room  was 
not  the  same. 

"  Where  am  I,  Alice  ?"  he  asked,  letting 
his  glance  wander  over  the  unfamiliar 
walls,  * '  I  'm  not  at  home. ' ' 

"No,  Jim,"  she  smiled  lightly.  "We're 
down  at  the  old  mill-house  on  Paddy's  Run. 
You  remember  that?" 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  261 

"Yes;  but  what  possessed  you  to  come 
here,  the  most  out-of-the-way  place  that  you 
could  find?  And  why  did  you  take  the 
trouble  of  moving  at  all?" 

"For  several  reasons.  Mr.  McCormick 
allowed  me  to  use  the  place  for  nothing. 
The  air  and  quiet  were  the  only  things  to 
make  you  well,  and  here  I  can  let  the 
children  play  all  day  in  their  dark  clothes 
and  not  bother  with  much  washing  and 
ironing." 

"You  are  a  wise  little  woman,"  he  re- 
plied, reaching  forth  to  touch  her  hand. 
"It  is  a  hard  enough  matter  to  have  me  to 
wait  on  without  dressing  the  kids  in  finery. 
You  don't  look  like  yourself,  Allie.  What's 
the  trouble?" 

"I  worried  about  you  a  great  deal  while 
you  were  ill,  Jim,"  she  answered  simply. 
"And  the  children  worried,  too." 

"The  poor  kids!  You  must  have  a  good 
easy  time  when  I'm  able  to  be  about  again. 
You  must  sit  in  an  easy  chair  and  I'll  wait 
on  you.  I  don't  like  to  see  you  look  worn 


262  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

out."  He  was  quiet  a  few  minutes  and 
then  began  on  the  subject  she  had  been 
dreading. 

"I'm  sick  to  see  the  babies,  Allie.  Did 
the  doctor  say  when  they  could  come  to  see 
me?" 

"No,  Jim.  He  didn't  say  a  word  about 
it,  but  I  suppose  he  wants  you  to  be  quite 
strong  first.  He's  afraid  they  will  be  noisy 
and  that  will  make  you  worse.  Mrs.  Heiner 
took  them  home  with  her  today.  She's  been 
so  good." 

*  *  A  little  noise  would  be  good  for  me.  I  'm 
dying  to  see  the  babies.  Couldn't  you  slip 
them  in  just  a  minute,  Allie?" 

"No,  Jim,  I'm  afraid  the  doctor  wouldn't 
like  it.  He's  been  so  careful  and  has  taken 
care  of  you  without  a  cent.  He  said  he  was 
well  paid  in  learning  about  an  accident  like 
this." 

"Well,  we  could  have  paid  him  easily 
enough.  We're  not  beggars  even  if  I  can't 
earn  anything  for  a  month.  We  have 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  263 

eighteen  hundred  dollars  in  the  box,  you 
know." 

"Yes,  Jim.  I  was  thinking  of  that.  I 
looked  about  everywhere  before  we  left 
home,  but  you  had  it  hidden  so  well.  I 
thought  no  robbers  could  find  it  if  I  could 
not." 

" You'd  never  find  it  in  the  house,  Allie. 
I  knew  you  would  feel  uneasy  and  look  for  it 
and  then  be  worried  into  fits  if  you  found 
it.  I  fooled  you  that  time,  Allie." 

"Well,  where  did  you  put  it,  Jim?  You 
don't  need  be  afraid  of  telling  me  now. 
Since  you've  been  ill  I've  quit  worrying 
about  such  trifles  as  money." 

"You  have?"  He  laughed  as  he  used  to 
do.  "Well,  then,  little  woman,  I'll  tell  you. 
I  pried  up  one  end  of  the  flagstones — the 
first  one  near  the  steps  and  laid  the  box  flat. 
Then  I  pounded  the  stone  down,  and  there 
it  is  safe." 

"I  never  thought  of  looking  there.  The 
stones  seemed  so  level." 


264  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

"So  you  see  we  could  have  paid  the  doctor 
his  price.  Do  you  know  whom  he  makes  me 
think  of?  There  was  a  young  fellow  bum- 
ming his  way  in  the  freight  car  the  morning 
I  was  hurt.  The  only  difference  is  that  this 
doctor  is  older  and  grimmer.  I  have  been 
wondering  if  they  could  be  related  in  any 
way." 

"I  do  not  know."  She  was  glad  that  he 
had  forgotten  what  had  taken  place  during 
the  short  period  of  consciousness  which  had 
followed  the  operation. 

Each  day  he  asked  that  the  children  might 
be  brought  in  to  see  him,  and  each  day  she 
put  him  off  with  excuses.  It  was  not  until 
lie  was  strong  enough  to  walk  from  the  bed 
across  the  room  to  the  window  that  he  forced 
her  to  tell  him  the  truth. 

"I'm  going  to  see  the  kids  to-day,  Allie. 
If  you  won't  bring  them  here,  I'll  walk 
downstairs.  That  will  hurt  me  more  than 
having  them  here.  You  will  bring  them, 
won't  you,  Allie?" 

"  In  a  few  minutes,  Jim. ' '    She  came  close 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  265 

and,  drawing  a  stool  near,  sat  down  by  his 
chair  and  held  his  hands  in  hers. 

"I  wished  to  talk  to  you  first,  Jim."  She 
smiled  cheerfully.  * '  How  long  do  you  think 
you  have  been  ill  1 ' ' 

"Well,  I  really  don't  know.  A  long  time 
from  the  looks  of  my  bones.  A  month?" 

"  Suppose,  Jim,  that  it  was  a  longer  time 
than  that — a  year  or  even  more  than  a  year. 
"Would  you  bear  it  and  laugh  over  it?" 

"I  don't  know  about  laughing  over  it,  but 
as  to  bearing  it,  I've  got  to  do  that.  But 
surely  I  couldn't  have  been  so  ill  for  over  a 
year  and  not  know  it.  Besides  I'd  been 
even  more  of  a  skeleton  than  this." 

"But,  Jim,  dear,  sometimes  there  are 
other  kinds  of  illness — when  the  body  is 
strong."  Her  face  was  growing  white  and 
drawn.  She  felt  that  she  would  die  rather 
than  tell  him.  He  saw  how  she  was  suffer- 
ing and,  forgetting  himself,  tried  Ms  best  to 
reassure  and  strengthen  her. 

"Yes,  Allie,  I'm  beginning  to  understand. 
What  was  it?" 


266  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

"Just  your  memory,  Jim.  You  forgot 
me  and  the  children  and  everyone.  You 
could  not  say  my  name." 

"Forgot  youT'1 

"Yes,  but  it  must  have  been  only  my  name, 
for  you  would  smile  and  seem  so  happy  to  be 
with  me." 

"How  long  has  it  been,  Allie?  Don't  be 
afraid  to  tell  me.  I'll  stand  it." 

"Seven  years,  Jim." 

"Seven  years!"  he  repeated  the  words 
softly  as  though  he  did  not  fully  grasp  their 
meaning.  "Seven  years,  Allie."  He  let 
his  head  fall  back  on  the  pillows  of  the  chair 
and  closed  his  eyes.  Again  thoughts  of  his 
wife  saved  him.  He  turned  suddenly  to  her. 

"Was  I  always  with  you,  Allie?  Or  did 
you  send  me  away?" 

"Send  you  away?  Why,  Jim,  do  you 
think  I  would  do  that?  No,  you  have  never 
been  away  from  me  unless  it  was  that  you 
walked  with  the  children  in  the  woods." 

"But,  Allie,  tell  me  honestly.    Was  I 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  267 

hard  to  manage?  Was  I  ever  unkind  to 
you?  I  never  harmed  you,  did  I?" 

''Why,  no,  Jim.  You  were  always  the 
loveliest,  kindest  person.  You  always 
smiled  at  me  and  patted  my  hand.  You 
never  had  an  ugly  look  or  an  ugly  word  for 
me.  Why,  you  couldn't  be  unkind,  Jim!" 

"I'm  glad  I  didn't  make  you  fear  me." 

They  sat  silent,  hand  in  hand  for  some 
time. 

Then  she  said,  "Thomas  is  a  big  boy  and 
has  been  in  school  three  years.  He  has  been 
such  a  comfort  to  me.  Shall  I  bring  the 
children  up  to  you  now,  Jim?" 

"Not  now.  Let  us  sit  just  this  way  for 
the  rest  of  the  day.  I  can't  understand  it  all 
and  it  must  come  back  gradually." 

So  they  sat  until  Alice  was  compelled  to 
slip  away  to  prepare  the  midday  meal. 
Doctor  Brenhizer  came  in  then  and  sat  with 
the  patient. 

To  the  surprise  of  both  wife  and  doctor, 
the  patient  bore  the  shock  remarkably  well. 


268  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

The  next  morning  he  again  asked  for  the 
children  and  when  they  came  he  talked  with 
them  as  though  the  past  seven  years  had  not 
been.  From  this  time  his  improvement  was 
most  marked.  When  he  was  able  to  come 
downstairs,  a  little  party  gathered  on  the 
porch,  shaded  by  the  woodbine. 

Margery,  who  had  come  down  from  the 
lumber  camp  to  spend  the  day,  was  among 
them ;  and  Alice  and  the  children  and  Doctor 
Brenhizer.  Jim,  lying  back  in  his  easy 
chair,  began  again  the  story  of  the  young 
man  who  rode  that  day  on  the  box  car. 

"I  suppose  you're  the  man  that  boy 
meant,"  he  said,  addressing  Doctor  Bren- 
hizer. "I  meant  to  send  you  word.  You 
know  why  I  did  not.  The  fault  was  not 
mine.  Now  perhaps  it  is  too  late. ' ' 

"Not  altogether.  You  told  me  a  good  bit 
a  few  weeks  ago.  I  telegraphed  at  once." 

"How  did  you  know  where?  I  cannot 
remember  th3  place.  I  just  glanced  at  the 
paper  he  handed  me." 

"But  your  wife  kept  the  paper.    As  I 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  269 

said,  I  sent  word  to  Telluride  over  three 
weeks  ago." 

"And  no  reply!"  said  Alice  anxiously. 
" That  is  too  bad." 

"I  did  not  say  that.  I  had  word  in  less 
than  forty-eight  hours.  It  was  from  Harry 
himself  saying  that  he  would  come  as  soon 
as  he  could  leave  a  patient.  I  didn't  under- 
stand just  what  he  meant ;  but  a  letter  later 
told  me  that  Doctor  Harry  Brenhizer  was  an 
honor  to  the  name." 

•  •••*••• 

During  the  following  week,  Dr.  Harry 
Brenhizer  came  to  the  old  mill-house  and  the 
camp  on  the  mountain  top.  He  was  a  man 
— every  inch  of  him,  and  his  father's  heart 
grew  young  again  as  his  eyes  rested  upon 
him  for  none  but  a  pure,  strong  man  could 
look  as  this  boy  of  his  looked. 

"I'll  tell  you  all  about  it,  father,"  he  said 
as  they  walked  arm  in  arm  before  the  mill- 
house.  "Just  for  one  instant  I  was  tempted 
to  take  mother's  jewels.  I  meant  to  pawn 
them  and  free  myself  of  debt.  But  I  didn't. 


270  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

I  had  them  in  my  hand  as  I  went  through 
the  office  to  go  back  upstairs  for  fear  I 
should  be  tempted  again ;  and  as  to  the  check, 
I  did  not  know  what  I  was  doing  when  I  put 
your  name  to  it.  When  I  came  to  myself,  I 
did  what  I  could  to  have  it  recalled,  but  it 
was  too  late." 

They  had  come  up  to  the  door  of  the  mill- 
house  before  which  Alice  and  her  husband 
sat,  while  Thomas  and  Laura  with  the  young 
people  from  the  camp  were  looking  over  a 
number  of  new  books  which  Doctor  Harry 
had  brought  from  town  for  them. 

"  There  has  been  seven  years  of  worry  and 
trouble  for  nothing,"  said  Doctor  Brenhizer. 

"I  don't  think  so,  father,"  was  the  reply. 
"I  think  it  was  for  something.  I  could  not 
understand  it  then,  but  I  think  I  do  now.  It 
was  well  for  me  that  I  had  seven  years  of 
hard  work  and  struggle  against  the  weak- 
ness of  my  own  nature.  When  I  awoke  to 
the  fact  that  I  had  betrayed  my  father's  con- 
fidence, and  had  reached  the  place  where  I 
had  lost  control  of  myself,  I  was  almost  des- 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  271 

perate.  I  did  what  I  could  to  cut  off  from 
evil,  but  it  was  stronger  than  I  was.  I  was 
hopeless  and  almost  lost  until  I  found  that 
man  is  not  expected  to  rely  on  his  own 
strength.  That  gave  me  confidence  in  my- 
self and  my  own  reform." 

"But  if  you  could  have  stayed  with  me,  or 
if  the  word  you  sent  by  Crissman  could  have 
come  to  me,  there  would  not  have  been  seven 
lonelv  years." 

v     v 

"Yet  I  say  it  was  best,  father.  If  I  had 
heard  from  you,  I  would  have  been  happier, 
but  I  also  would  have  been  much  more  easily 
satisfied.  But  I  said  to  myself,  'My  father 
is  ashamed  and  grieved ;  but  shame  and  grief 
will  not  come  to  him  again  for  me.'  No, 
father,  it  was  all  for  the  best  for  me.  It  was 
Jim  Crissman  and  his  wife  who  suffered 
without  recompense." 

They  were  within  hearing  of  the  little 
group  before  the  mill-house.  Jim  Crissman 
smiled  at  the  words.  "I  am  not  so  sure. 
Perhaps  I've  been  paid  for  the  seven  years' 
run  over  a  sand-ballast  and  up  grade.  Alice 


272  SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME 

and  I  planned  a  good  bit  and  knew  exactly 
what  we  would  do  for  the  kids.  Thomas  was 
to  be  a  doctor  and  Laura  a  fine  musician,  if 
she  took  to  it.  We  had  everything  cut  and 
dried.  We  were  the  whole  road  and  all  the 
departments;  but,"  he  looked  about  him  on 
the  faces  marked  with  the  experiences  of  the 
last  seven  years.  It  was  difficult  for  him  to 
express  himself  about  matters  which  lay 
close  to  that  great  tender  heart  of  his.  He 
had  been  a  railroad  man  all  his  life  and  it 
was  natural  that  even  his  religious  instincts 
;expressed  themselves  in  terms  of  the  road. 
It  was  with  the  greatest  reverence  he  con- 
tinued, "but  the  Lord  side-tracked  us  to 
show  that  He  had  the  right  of  way  for 
awhile." 

,  Alice  understood  him  better  than  the 
others.  She  could  not  smile  at  the  lightness 
,of  his  words.  She  knew  how  much  these 
seven  years  had  done  for  her.  Her  sorrow 
and  responsibility  had  purified  and  strength- 
ened her.  She  was  tender,  self-controlled, 
unselfish,  faithful.  The  years  had  given  her 


SIXTY-FIVE  ON  TIME  273 

these  qualities.  What  more  could  she  ask  of 
them  than  that  1 

These  had  been  seven  lean  years  for  the 
Crissmans,  as  far  as  material  matters  were 
considered,  but  they  were  swallowed  up  by 
seven  fat  ones. 

The  tin  box  was  unearthed  from  its  bed 
under  the  stone,  and  the  money  was  paid  on  a 
little  home  not  far  from  the  old  place. 
Doctor  Henry  Brenhizer  became  interested 
in  Thomas  and  promised  that  the  oppor- 
tunity for  a  medical  education  would  be 
waiting  him  when  he  was  ready  for  it. 

But  best  of  all — yet  Jim  Crissman  and 
Alice  broke  down  and  cried  when  it  hap- 
pened— was  the  day  when  the  sick  man  was 
wholly  well,  and  was  doing  odd  chores  about 
the  place,  and  the  one-armed  caller  came  to 
the  front  fence  and  cried  out,  "Hey  there, 
Crissman,  you're  called  for  Sixty-Five  on 
time!" 

THE  END 


FICTION     FOR      BOYS 


LITTLE    RHODY 

By    JEAN    K.    B  AI  RD 
Illustrated  by  R.  G.  VOSBURGH 

At  The  Hall,  a  boys'  school,  there  is  a  set  of  boys 
known  as  the  "Union  of  States,"  to  which  admittance 
is  gained  by  excelling  in  some  particular  the  boys  deem 
worthy  of  their  mettle. 

Rush  Petriken,  a  hunchback  boy,  comes  to  The  Hall, 
and  rooms  with  Barnes,  the  despair  of  the  entire  school 
because  of  his  prowess  in  athletics.  Petriken  idolizes 
him,  and  when  trouble  comes  to  him,  the  poor  crippled 
lad  gladly  shoulders  the  blame,  and  is  expelled.  But 
shortly  before  the  end  of  the  term  he  returns  and  is 
hailed  as  "little  Rhody,"  the  "capitalest  State  of  all." 

CLOTH,  12  mo,  illustrated,    -    $1.50 


BIGELOW  BOYS 

By  MRS.   A.    F.   RANSOM 
Illustrated  by   HENRY  MILLER 

Four  boys,  all  bubbling  over  with  energy  and  love 
of  good  times,  and  their  mother,  an  authoress,  make 
this  story  of  a  street-car  strike  in  one  of  our  large 
cities  move  with  leaps  and  bounds.  For  it  is  due  to 
the  four  boys  that  a  crowded  theatre  car  is  saved  from 
being  wrecked,  and  the  instigators  of  the  plot  captured. 

Mrs.  Ransom  is  widely  known  by  her  patriotic  work 
among  the  boys  in  the  navy,  and  she  now  proves  herself 
a  friend  of  the  lads  on  land  by  writing  more  especially 
for  them. 

CLOTH,  12  mo,  illustrated,    -    $1.50 
Books  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price. 

Ghe  Saalfield   Titbit j>  hing   Co. 

AKRON,     OHIO 


A     000129565     8 


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